


I'm nothing like you

by 3Cheers4Sweet_Revenge



Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders sides web series, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders - Freeform, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders - Freeform, Deceit is a terrible terrible man, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Help, Logan learns emotions, Logic | Logan Sanders - Freeform, Morality | Patton Sanders - Freeform, Multichapter, Patton is a good concerned dad, Physical Abuse, Roman is a protective pal, Sanders Sides (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Doubt, Virgil just wants to be like the others
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-03-17 06:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13653603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3Cheers4Sweet_Revenge/pseuds/3Cheers4Sweet_Revenge
Summary: Anxiety hated the way Roman spoke too loud next to him, the way Logan could interrupt somebody just so that he may state a fact, how Patton made him feel guilty.But what Anxiety hated most were the shadows that followed him.-----------Virgil has been part of the group for months now, but his origins still haunt him relentlessly. It's when Virgil decides he was going to try confronting his past, everything starts going to shit.





	1. The cons of having a shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multichapter story, so I hope you enjoy! If you do, please let me know; it will help encourage my lazy ass to finish this angst train. Thanks <3

Virgil wasn’t perfect; he never was, and never will be. It was simply a fact, all the other faucets were the exact same way. Things irked him, pissed him off, scared him, put him in a position where he had to hurt the others. 

That in itself was one of the things Virgil hated.

Anxiety hated the way Roman spoke too loud next to him, the way Logan could interrupt somebody just so that he may state a fact, how Patton made him feel guilty.

But what Anxiety hated most were the shadows that followed him.

They trailed along his steps, their soft manipulative whispers becoming a constant noise behind him. Virgil could not see them, they always managed to dissipate before he could turn his head to confront the demons. They grabbed hold of Virgil since he first had ever been conjured into an existence, in a sense. 

These shadows had always been there, it was nothing new to Anxiety. But since his acceptance into the group, the shadows had seemed to increase, or so it seemed to him.

None of the others had shadows, nor did they have voices that followed them; Virgil’s presence in the group made that very apparent. The mass of shadows taunted Virgil,the contrast of their existence to the other sides’ lack thereof.

It was simply a reminder of Virgil’s worst thoughts.

That was why Virgil hated them, that bone shuddering reminder that they served. The shadows were a sign of separation between Anxiety and the others. They served as a disconnect to the world Virgil so desperately wanted to be apart of.

But Virgil belonged to something different. He despised the reality that came with that, but Virgil was never supposed to be accepted with the others. Virgil already had a family; a fucked up one, that being said.

Within this family, shadows roamed freely, their voices a never-ending cackle. The people they were attached to never seemed to care of their presence. The small group was connected to each other through this mutual bond of shadows; something they had seemed to take pride in.

Virgil _despised_ being in that ‘family’, if he could even call it that. The young side was constantly subjected to the ‘on the edge’ feeling when he was around them. The only emotions that radiated off these others were spite and anger.

Virgil was more than delighted when he finally realized he could escape that reality; that all of the pain and fear he felt would go away.

_Stupid_

Virgil realized far too late, that pain would never go away. Virgil wasn't _meant_ to fit in with Thomas’ main sides, and that being there would subject him to a new pain:

Rejection.

It’s why he hated those shadows. Those terrible entities of disdain and negativity proved he could never be what he needed to be.

But those shadows were Virgil, and Virgil was the shadows.

It's what he hated most.

_Who he was._


	2. Post- shooting breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, thanks to those who have left comments and kudos on this story so far! It means a lot to me. And thank you so much to everyone who corrected any errors I had made last time. You mean the world to me.
> 
> Clearly I haven't gotten into the real plot of the story, I guess. I'm kinda just fucking around with the concept of darkside shadows.
> 
> Enjoy.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

He was never supposed to show his face here.

Everything was _wrong_.

Or at least, more so than usual.

 

Virgil paced his room repeatedly, his left hand held up to his lips as he bit his nails. He could feel himself starting to fold, his pace too quick, his sweater suddenly too heavy, Virgil’s thoughts too loud. He just wanted to figure out what- no- _why_ all of this was happening.

Virgil had abandoned the others so quickly after recording the newest video, being there with the others, and with the cameras, it made him feel too exposed. Attention had been thrust upon him now again, just when he thought things were _finally_ settling down.

Leave it to Roman to be so painfully obvious.

Virgil could feel his head pump in time to his irregular heartbeat- god, how long had he been doing this? A few minutes? Hours? He was driving himself fucking crazy because of it.  
The young facet forced himself to sit on the couch, pulling the drawstrings of his hood tight.

Virgil’s fingers were bleeding now.

From around him, Virgil could not ignore the hisses and laughs; they had been tormenting him ever since _he_ showed up. Their voices were unintelligible as usual, but the sound itself was somehow _thicker_. The speech was garbled and hot as the ‘words' landed on him, the laughter was hideous.

They knew.

Virgil tried his best to stay focused, to think logically, however his own thoughts interrupted themselves. He gripped the seat cushion under him, clinging to something stable so that the world would just _stop spinning_. His eyes stung, screaming at him to just take a moment to relax; burning themselves into Virgil until his vision blurred with tears.

Anxiety should have been able to handle this, it was the way _his_ presence affected him. Virgil’s elongated time away from his ‘old friend’ had kept him vulnerable to this.

He truly had forgotten how draining the dark sides were.

He wasn't prepared to face this swarm of thoughts because, frankly, he didn't think he ever had to see them again. Deceit, in his true fashion, had thrown Virgil through a loop, leaving him unprepared.

Leaving him scared.

But above all, Virgil was confused. Deceit was too well planned, far too meticulous to reveal himself to Thomas without first choosing to, so why was he here? What motives, or intentions did he have for the other sides? Surely the knowledge of his existence would extinguish any real power to his persuasion, Thomas could easily just recognize his influence and ignore it.

So why would Deceit just take that risk?

Virgil’s breath shuddered as he stared at the floor, the answerless questions consuming him. The anxious trait was wrecked emotionally, his skin crawling as he forced himself into cluelessness. He felt sick to his stomach, the gears in his head shifting rapidly.

If Deceit made himself known, it wasn't just to sway the politics of the sides’ debates; the statement itself is stupidly obvious. Deceit was making moves, and today’s stunt was merely Deceit moving another pawn on the board.

Deceit was out for something, and had intentions to harm the ones in his way. How would he go about it though, Virgil couldn't help but wonder. Oh, what terrible things he knew Deceit could do. 

Would Deceit force the sides into betraying their own roles as Thomas’ protectors, or would he trick them into hurting their host?

Would he lock away the traits, force them into a state of uselessness so that he and the other dark sides could replace them?

Or maybe he would just kill them all, in the name of his grand scheme.

With each possibility, Virgil saw the outcome play itself repeatedly in his head. His stress had fed into his subconscious, making the blood too bright, cries too loud,

Deceit’s glinting yellow eye too intimidating.

Huddling into himself, Virgil just shook his head, as if doing it hard enough could make the images go away. He knew none of those things could happen; the others were too strong, too smart, too understanding to be fooled by whatever Deceit’s obvious plan was.

But, really? Virgil _didn't_ know. 

It was that small percent chance anybody _would_ be fooled that terrified him.

But the youngest side was wasting his time. What he was doing, sitting in his room panicking about avoidable events, it was useless.

If Deceit really did have a plan, Logan would surely have figured it out by now; after all, it was essentially his job to sleuth his way into Deceit’s mind.

But Virgil could not stop this torture; his unending train of thoughts. Slowly, he was being consumed by the thoughts, the fears, the regrets. Around him, the shadows grew louder, blanketing Virgil in a swarm of worry.

They had been waiting a long time, the shadows were ravenous.

With every minute Virgil shook with fright, the shadows lashed their tongues at him, taking in every drop of anxiety.

The shadows had been starving for so long.

Now, as their host trembled, they could finally feast.


	3. Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey whaddup I'm L I'm 16, and I never fucking learned how to write long chapters .  
> Or good ones.  
> Or stop using run-on sentences.  
> Or storytell.
> 
> You get the idea. Anyway, enjoy your first glance at Deceit's roll in this story. Can you spot his influence?

It was the knocking that forced Virgil to awaken from his trace; three solid taps on the thick wooden door which made him jump. His eyes darted to the source of the sound, his breath tight in his chest.

He hadn’t noticed earlier how rapid his breathing was; when did he start heaving? 

Virgil sat back apprehensively on the couch, forcing himself to speak without his voice wavering.

_“Yeah..?”_

He failed.

Silence from beyond the door caused him to grimace, allowing a small laugh from a shadow over him; one of the ones that were still hanging around after being _so rudely interrupted_ by Virgil’s guest.

Standing with hesitancy, Virgil paced towards the entrance, cracking the door just enough so he could see what hid beyond his room. Eyes flicking up, the young facet stared into an empty hall.

Poking his head out slowly, Virgil scanned the area, stopping dead at the foot of his door. Under his feet, black sludge oozed out from the crack in the door. Anxiety’s eyes followed the inky-black creature that had slipped from the confines of his room. The figure was molding itself against the wall of the hallway, snaking its body around the small area until the walls were tainted with a light grey.

Virgil stiffened, lips twisting into a demented frown as he felt his gut drop.

Shadows were _not_ supposed to roam without him.

Virgil felt a shiver run up his spine, face becoming cold as he paled. He stared as the shadow slithered downstairs, its limp body flicking itself away from Virgil.

He could _see it_.

_Why the fuck could he see it?_

Tearing his eyes away from the stairwell, Virgil saw movement under him, causing him to jerk his head down. From the open door, the tar-like creatures were squirming themselves out to the hall, hissing their squeals of delight.

They had tricked him into opening their route of escape, mocking him of his obvious screw-up.

**_Idiot_ **

Virgil slammed the door, stepping back hard to avoid catching himself in the force. He gazed unblinking at his door, refusing to move until the smoke of shadows had circled away from the exit.

Not a chance he would let more of them into the shared mindscape.

The young side stepped back until his spine was flush against the wall, the cool solid behind him allowing him to breathe. Resting the back of his head into the corner, Virgil sank himself down, crumpling down like a broken, neglected doll.

He was broken and neglected, alright. 

Even through his swarming thoughts, Virgil was still able to hear his companions in darkness clamber around him. He could hear the every scratch of a claw against his walls, feel the heat of breath on the back of his neck as they spoke. The shadows accumulating around him, his chest felt tighter.

He didn't care if they touched him, if they hurt him; it was their nature. Virgil simply stood as the defense, taking the pain of the shadows’ violence so that he wouldn't let the darkness harm the others, hurt Thomas.

_Oh._

_But Virgil already had._

_Some had escaped._

**_Idiot._ **

 

It took him no time to rise, stumbling to his door in a flash. He fumbled with the doorknob and slid out, closing the door tight behind him. With a wave of his hand, he locked the door from the outside

Granted, locking it took a few tries, as Virgil’s mind was stuffed with cotton.

His footsteps seemed to boom across the mindscape, the vibrations pounding in his ears until they were ringing. 

He couldn't hear.

He glanced up and down the hall before trembling down the stairs, searching for the familiar darkness around the shared area. With every glance, his eyes seemed to glaze over, refusing to focus on anything in that moment. Lights were too bright, darks were too hiden. He blinked hard and desperately rubbed his eyes, frantic in his abrupt search.

He couldn't see.

**_This wouldn't be happening right now if you hadn't fallen for such an obvious trick, Idiot._ **

Virgil’s knuckles were turning white under his grasp of the banister. His body felt like concrete, draining the energy out of him with every millisecond he remained standing. 

He had let them down, he had allowed himself to hurt them all because he was a selfish moron.

_They were going to be so upset when they found out._

Anxiety’s knees crumbled under him, sending him to the floor with a loud bang. He didn't care; he couldn't care. 

_He let it happen._

Virgil didn't even see the others when they gawked at him from the bottom of the stairs, clear concern drawn on their faces as they observed and called to their youngest.

Virgil stayed curled on the floor, his breath sharp and weak as he stared aimlessly forward. His skin was a worrying shade of white, which stood as an immediate contrast to his eyes; They were blown wide with panic, dilated enough to appear black.

The colour had matched perfectly with the dark figures that were swimming around Virgil’s unmoving body, whispering into his ears and cackling at his misery, swallowing up the deliciousness.


	4. Relapse into resent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my heck. This chapter is a disaster.
> 
>  
> 
> Im sorry okay.

Saying that Virgil was slowly deteriorating would be an understatement.

Anxiety was much more suited to the term ‘a raging dumpster fire’. He thought it had fit him perfectly; a sudden and extreme disaster that nobody really wanted to deal with.

 _That_ was him.

It had been an agonizingly slow few weeks for Virgil after his little.. _breakdown_. What had happened that night tormented him at all times, filling him with embarrassment and guilt. He didn't really know how long his time ‘out' was; after his legs gave out, Virgil had entered a trace. The others were at his side when he got out of it, but he had spoiled their concerns.

What forced him out of his own head was someone’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him. 

He didn't know what to do.

He was scared.

He didn't mean to.

Roman had retracted so quickly and scowled when Virgil struck him, the dramatic side cradling his hand as he glared at Anxiety. Virgil had felt awful about it, seeing his friend hurt by his hand, but maybe _entirely?_

He hadn't hated it.

Something about reacting to the unwanted touch made him feel powerful, as if he wasn't being controlled and tormented at that moment. It made him feel like he had a choice.

Thinking back on it, Virgil may have even smiled when he’d done it. His memory was foggy, though, as the only thing he _knew_ was Patton’s reaction.

It broke his heart, shredding it as painfully as possible. Patton looked devastated, his eyes filled with tears and.. _Anger?_

Virgil knew those tears weren't for him.

**_Why would you ever be worth feeling sorry for?_ **

He wasn't.

Since then, Virgil hadn't left his room. Facing the others, it was an impossible chore at this point. It had been so much easier to just stuff away, forcing distance between himself and the other sides.

The anxious facet had been living in the chaos of his own bedroom for about three weeks now; two and a half longer than ever before. He was cautiously aware that his self-inflicted isolation was reversing any progress he and the others had made, but he had to do it.

Virgil deserved to wallow here.

He’d been living in total darkness at this point, and that felt deserved too. Virgil could no longer tell night from day, everything held the same feeling.

His shadows blanketed any light, natural or artificial, coating his entire room in a film like dust. Their presence was no longer intimidating in the room.

Virgil was doing what he needed to, trapping them in with him.

He’d been exhausted, of course, but he could not risk letting any of them out. In order to survive the waking hours, Virgil lived off coffee and energy bars. The lack of sleep left dark circles under his eyes, deep enough to replace the eyeliner he was too tired to re-apply.

However, this new lifestyle had found Virgil in a tough spot. He had refused to leave his room, and the others’ persistence was beginning to wind him up.

_They just don't understand._

He was working his ass off to _protect_ the other sides from his influence. He was still functioning fine as one of Thomas’ sides, so why should they care? 

**_What you're doing is right._ **

Those were the words he had kept telling himself, too. Virgil wasn't meant to fit in with the others, he was an immediate threat to him. By being anywhere _near_ them, he could _infect them_.

Anxiety was a disorder, afterall; a terrible plague that only complicated the others’ responsibilities.

What right did he have to force that on them?

No matter how hard Anxiety could try to convince himself that he was different; the darkness in his room reminded him otherwise. 

**_No matter what they have told you, you are still your origins._ **

**_Dark sides don't change, Anxiety._ **

**_The way that they are treating you? It's because they are terrified of you._ **

**_You could ruin them all so easily, which is why you must sit here._ **

**_Sit here and wait until they forget about you, if they already haven't._ **

All the voices spoke at one, all in the same sly tune. At first, Virgil rejected the comments, refusing to give them power. Virgil thought it would be better to just put up with the comments, as he had for so long.

**_It’s your nature to hurt._ **

**_Just think about the others, how much easier you are making things by not pretending to be one of them anymore._ **

**_Filthy disease, you can only do harm._ **

Eventually, Virgil realized he could no longer find false statements from their raspy voices.

Strangely, he felt a form of comfort from their statements. Underneath his heartache, his knowing of how the others felt about him, Anxiety felt pride. Even though the others despised his kind, the _dark sides,_ Virgil loved the others. 

Keeping them away from negative reinforcement and pain, he was helping them, allowing them to succeed.

He loved them, and he hated that he hurt them. He had no other alternative than this.

It's why when Patton popped into Anxiety’s room, Virgil got angry and verbally abusive. 

_Your good-for-nothing ‘caring parent’ act is just that. Accept it already, Morality, you can't be anything like you want to be._

When Roman popped up next, to defend Patton after he’d come to him in tears, Virgil was snarky.

_Look, Prince Harming, pretending to be courageous and brave won't actually help anybody. You pretend to be strong for all of us, you say you do it for us, but you're just cowardly; you're looking for a reason to validate your motives._

Logan never even came to Anxiety’s room to confront him.

_Good, Logic is smart enough to recognize he will only be hurt by me; talking is useless._

Virgil had become so obsessed with driving away the others, that most of his insults and anger was becoming more than just an act.

He felt _resent._

_Anger._

He hadn't realized that all of his comments he had made to the others were about himself.

He only _thought_ he’d been fierce towards them, but it was self-hate he was fueling.

Virgil only _thought_ he was doing the right thing, which is why when the creatures that haunted him started to attack,

He took the beatings.


	5. Scratch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I get into this, let me say:
> 
> I am sorry.
> 
> It only gets worse from here.
> 
> (This story actually has a happy ending okay guys I'm soRRY)

It was week four since Virgil had secluded himself. Four weeks of suffering a system on self-destruction.

It was two weeks since Virgil last saw another side, either. The young facet’s only sense of other people were his shadows. They were much more talkative with every passing day, seemingly as though more were accumulating around him with each hour. Their voices had gone from whispers and laughs, to full out shouting and threats. 

With each day, the distress they caused Virgil worsened his state; more shadows forming in place of his panicked mind.

That was what had screwed him over.

For a month now, Virgil had followed the same pattern: _stress, create more anxiety, shadows form, they torment him, repeat._

A vicious cycle he couldn't get away from.

His anxiety-fuelled life had kept him safe from this before, but now that he was alone, everything was far too heavy. 

Over the past few weeks, Virgil’s anxieties were becoming autonomous, no longer fully attached to his own fears. The shadows were completely verbal and insane, they fed him information he didn't want to hear, encouraged him to do terrible things to himself.

Virgil had to force himself to work hard, resist the urges that the demons around him gave him.

They _hated_ that he went against their wishes.

**_Your ‘friends' haven't even come back to visit you. You really are hated here, aren't you, Anxiety?_ **

**_I bet they wish you were fucking dead, you know. Hell, maybe you should be._ **

Every day, it became harder to persist. Virgil was hardly able to push away the words that stung his skin

They _hated_ how he could still put up with it.

_That_ is why they started lashing out.. _Physically._

It started when one shadow threw his lamp across the room, shattering its glass above his head, showering him in the shards.

From that point on, the shadows had taken to violence as their form of manipulation. Virgil wasn't giving them what they wanted; freedom and space to corrupt. His fears were supposed to be feeding them, but it was just creating more; now they were too condensed, ravenous. 

This was the only thing they could do to convince him anymore.

Virgil was attacked relentlessly day and night, the shadows now finally capable of touching him. Their touch singed him, their claws leaving deep cuts under his clothes. When they threw their tantrums, Virgil was faced with unending beatings.

By now, he was used to it.

But today's was _different._

**_You've hurt those around you, those you pretend to care about._ **

**_They hate you, for what you've done._ **

**_They will never forgive you like you can._ **

**_Why not teach them a lesson?_ **

Virgil clenched and released his fists repeatedly, eyes squeezed tight as he paced the room. Any minute now, he knew they would retire from speaking to him, and move on to what they would inevitably do.

For hours now, the shadows were pressing Virgil about the other sides, pushing him deeper and deeper into panic.

He’d done his best to ignore it, to focus on keeping calm, but his head was spinning.

He was already unwinding.

Beside him, shadows sneered threats into his ears, a stack of Virgil’s CDs slamming into his side from across the room.

The sudden impact had him doubled over, gasping in surprise at the force.

It shouldn't have hurt that much, but Virgil was already suffering bruises from an earlier date.

Taking a shuddering breath, he took a slow kneel to the floor, easing himself down so that he could ground himself.

They had him worn down.

He was so fucking _sick_ of them at this point. Everyday was a worse battle than the last, the pain he felt emotionally and physically made him want to bawl.

He couldn't take much more of this torture, it was too much.

He _never_ should have done this to himself.

Virgil slid to the floor, curling into himself defensively. He was weak, unnecessarily exhausted, and filled with hate.

He had to fight alone.

**_Look at you, Anxiety. You're a fucking disaster, aren't you?_ **

From behind him, he was being pulled to his feet. Through the fabric of his hoodie, he could feel the sharp stab of hot fingers, burning lines into his spine.

Here it goes again.

Virgil shook his shoulders forward to worm out of the grasp of the shadow that held him, pressing his lips tight together.

His squirming was granted with another shadow pressing itself against him, its thin, wispy body curling itself tight around Virgil’s torso.

His body immediately flared up, causing him to lurch violently back in response to the creature boiling his skin.

The other shadows seemed to achieve a sadistic pleasure from that display.

Virgil kicked uselessly as the demon around him tightened, compressing his bones until he could swear he felt them melting. His breathing was tight and laboured under the weight around him.

_It felt like he was drowning_

A cry escaped his lips as he kicked back the other shadows approaching him, one spiraling its way around his throat. 

The red flames of pain that accompanied the touch left him gasping for breath. He was being cut off of any movement now.

His legs were still kicking, his hands scorching as he clawed at the noose-like shadow. Everything was hurting now, his body aching and _screaming_ for release.

He had never wanted to die as much as he did now.

Now fully choking, Virgil tilted his head up to ease the pain on his neck. 

The two creatures around him responded by tightening harder, snickering as Virgil’s silent tears fell.

In front of him, Virgil became acutely aware of a sharp stab in his chest. His eyes shifted rapidly down to watch as the darkness surrounded him.

They were slashing him open as he was forced to stand.

**_Ungrateful._ **

_Scratch_

**_You could have had so much more, because of us._ **

_Scratch_

**_You had it all, and threw it away because you wanted to be with_ them.**

_Scratch_

And so it continued for what may have been an hour, Virgil being verbally ridiculed by his own anxieties before they attacked, taking turns as the massive number of shadows assaulted him.

He was in agony, feeling each new attack reopen old wounds the same creatures had already caused, hot tears spilling down his cheeks uselessly. 

He’d already done everything he could to defend himself.

He was _so damn tired._

When they two shadows around him had had their fun, they let the dizzy Virgil go, leaving him shaking.

He had stumbled back, coughing hard as oxygen returned to him. His hands shook hard as he felt his torso up, he was practically able to _smell_ the blood on his clothes.

Virgil felt his legs go out under him, bracing himself before he hit the floor; he was instead met with a pair of arms around his waist.

Through bleary eyes, Virgil was able to look at the face of his saviour, leaning hard into the mystery man’s chest.

Above him, a yellow eye twinkled.

“Oh, Anxiety.. What have you gotten yourself into now?”


	6. Dance miserable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes so horribly wrong so damn fast.

Virgil stayed crumpled in Deceit’s embrace for some time, after that.

Had Virgil been acting like his usual self, he would have been angry at the other man, forcing him away.

But he was far too distraught and delirious at this point to think straight.

Deceit’s fingers combed through Virgil’s bangs, shaking his head down at the other with disappointment as he comforted him.

“You poor thing.. You lost control over them, didn't you?”

Unable to form coherent words, Virgil just nodded miserably, taking a shaky breath.

Deceit just tisked, slowly pulling the younger man to his feet, holding him in place until he felt Virgil was able to stand without support.

“You never have been good at keeping it in, but this is by far the worst I’ve ever seen from you.”

Virgil let his eyes flick up to the other man, his body still quivering violently. With Deceit now in the room with him, the shadows seemed to lessen, to return in obedience to their host. He bit back on his lip to avoid thanking the deceptive side.

Deceit smirked, letting a gloved hand caress Virgil’s cheek.

“Don't you worry, my dear, I have everything under control now. You're safe with me.”

As much as Virgil had hated that the words had come from _him_ , Virgil’s heart swelled at the thought of being safe; _protected._ He shuddered another breath, closing his eyes and pressing his face into Deceit’s soft touch.

Deceit’s lips twitched upwards, cupping Virgil’s cheek with faux love as his thumb brushed against the tear tracks.

“All of this time away, its made you weak, you know? What are you doing to yourself, locked up in here anyway? You _know_ you have never been able to handle your shadows.”

Virgil looked away, hoping that he could avoid the question.

Deceit’s hand tensed against Virgil’s face.  
“Answer me, Anxiety.”

Virgil stopped, the change in his guest’s voice causing his heart to skip a beat. He opened his mouth to speak, forcing himself to clear his throat before stammering weakly:

“I-I’m _worried-_ ”

Deceit’s hold became gentle again, gazing down at Anxiety with nauseating pity.

“Worried? You think _you're_ worried?”

The older trait sneered, craning Virgil’s head to look up at him.

“Were you even thinking about how _we_ must feel? _Your_ shadows have affected ours, Anxiety. I came to confront you because, darling, I know how _pathetic_ you can be. Instead, I have to watch you fail to control your own influence, watch as you are harmed.”

Deceit trailed off, turning away from Virgil as he let him go. Shaking his head, he took a few steps back from the trembling side.

“The- The others-”

Deceit stopped pacing, eyebrow cocked at Anxiety.

“N-no, not- uhm, the mains..”

Deceit’s shoulders visibly slumped.

“ _Oh._ ”

**_Look what you've done now._ **

“You see, my dear, I was really hoping you wouldn't ask.. I did not want to cause you more distress than you are obviously already facing.”

Virgil’s heart fluttered painfully in his chest, eyes wide. Had he fucked up the _only_ thing he had been doing to protect them? Were the others hurt, did _he_ -?

**_Yes, yes you did._ **

Deceit spoke again, his tone breaking Virgil’s oncoming worry.

“The thing is, Anxiety, I don't think they've _cared_ enough to notice your leave.”

That _couldn't_ be true.

“I’ve been _popping in_ a little more frequently, I suppose, just to observe you four’s little _dynamic_. I was never able to see you there, but I had assumed it was what you quartet had deemed normal.”

**That _is what you forgot. You forgot about the most obvious threat, Deceit._**

**_He’s right to call you pathetic, Anxiety._ **

“What I saw, it broke my heart for you, Anxiety. Every day, as they ate together, spoke with each other, they had seemed so relieved.”

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat.

“Frankly, I don't think I’ve ever seen them happier than they were without you.”

**_But you already knew that, didn't you?_ **

“Stop- stop it.”

Deceit took a few strides towards Virgil, tisking again.

“Poor thing, you deserve to know the _truth_. It must be so awful, knowing you've wasted so much energy on people who couldn't care less about you in return.”

The taller side sighed, one arm snaking its way around Virgil’s waist in an unchaste manor, pulling him close to his body. With his other hand, he gently brushed hair out of the younger’s face, lifting his chin to his.

Virgil’s breathing became forced, he pressed his back against the wall behind him to try worming from his elder’s grasp. He had instead ended up simply trapping himself between the plaster and Deceit’s body.

“I can't stand to watch you suffer any longer, Anxiety. We need you, we _miss_ you. All of this pain you feel, it can go away. All you need to do is come back home.

Back to _us._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who is still sticking around for this bullshit!   
> And thanks for everyone leaving kudos and comments, it makes my day to read what you guys have to say!   
> So please, if you want to share a thought, put 'er down, by'.


	7. Mad at nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that few day delay, folks! 
> 
> Also can we take a moment to appreciate how I've used two Soul Punk songs consecutively for chapter titles? 
> 
> The song lyrics just fit the mood.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, welcome back.

“ No.”

Virgil’s voice did not waver, his eyes locked with his captor’s.

Deceit chuckled, but there was no humour behind it. The malicious side’s grasp tightened on the other in a sudden, hard manor.

“I beg your pardon?”

Virgil shook in place despite feeling the wave of bravery crash over him. Straightening up to try matching Deceit’s height, Virgil leaned in until the two men’s faces were inches apart.

_“No.”_

Virgil felt Deceit take a slow breath in, watching his jaw become stiff with anger. The deceptive side’s hands still had not moved from touching the younger, and Anxiety could practically see Deceit’s mind whirring.

It made him feel strong.

“No matter how terrible the others would ever make me feel, I can guarantee that there is no way in _hell_ I’d come crawling back to the likes of you.”

**_You've done it now._ **

Anxiety’s back was met with the wall, Deceit's hands twisted tightly into the front of Virgil’s sweater. The older man held their faces close, his eyes piercing into Virgil’s, his one serpent-like pupil razor thin.

_He’d fucked up._

“Do you even understand how _hard_ I worked for you?”

Deceit’s words were hissed through his teeth, his once alluring demeanour completely abandoned. His gloved hands were balling themselves in Virgil’s clothing, forcing the younger side to lean into him.

“I had done all of this just for you, and you were greedy. You ruined _everything_ for us back at home, and we came to give you a second chance.”

“You- you did _nothing_ for me. All you do is _hurt_ me, hurt my _friends._ I’m sorry, but I will not let myself be used by you ever again.”

Deceit’s eyes flared up, glaring down at the younger side with pure venom as he snarled.

“You're an ungrateful little _bitch_ , Anxiety. Do you not see how desperately I- _we_ want you back home?”

Virgil simply scoffed, spitting at the other in disgust.

_“Fuck. You.”_

_Smack!_

The force was strong enough to spin Virgil’s head, his lips pressed together in a flinch.

The courage was gone now.

Deceit’s fingers found their way into Virgil’s hair, yanking it so that they would make eye contact. Virgil just gazed back hopelessly, his hand cupped over his now-burning cheek, eyes stinging.

Deceit leaned in, his voice low as a whisper.

“Say it again.”

He had completely regained the control.

When Anxiety refused to respond, he was shoved down to the ground, his legs failing him.

Deceit took a single step forward, looking down at the young side with distaste. His stance from above was a statue hovering over Virgil, the disgusted look in his eye enough to make the anxious facet feel even smaller.

“You don't understand how much we need you, huh?”

Virgil just swallowed hard, inching himself away, ignoring the pain that shot at him as his burned hands made contact with the floor.

“You- you _don't-_ ”

“We lost you once, and now we are _hurting._ Without you, we dark sides, we can't do a _thing._ We are failing our jobs because of you being _selfish._

Deceit began pacing slow circles around Virgil, like a vulture around its prey; his reptilian eye keeping constant eye contact.

“You, my dear, are our driving force. Because you left us, for those pitiful others, you have directly attacked us.”

The younger side stopped his escape across the floor, a steady stream of shadows from behind him blocking off any further advance.

**_All you do is hurt, don't you see?_ **

**_Even your own kind, filthy dark side._ **

Deceit crouched to Virgil, taking hold of his wrist with one grand motion. His fingers dug into the beaten side’s forearm roughly, causing him to flinch.

“Now, dear Anxiety, I know that _you_ know you are a useless side. You are absolutely nothing to Thomas, nor are you helpful to those _mains_. Being here, nobody benefits.”

The standing man took a kneel over the other, his anger having settled to a more dominant approach to his pity. His eyes were cold, hardset and determined as they examined his prey.

Virgil couldn't read him anymore.

“You're hurting, and you're taking it out on yourself. Just look at you, living up here in your own doubt and misery, letting your subconscious beat you half to death; it’s tragic, truly.

Yet, Anxiety, what puzzles me most is why you stay here. Keeping with those mains, it harms them too. You are just weight on their shoulders, another obstacle.”

Deceit’s other hand began moving, tracing a digit in a small circle over Virgil’s chest. His line of sight shifted between his finger and Virgil’s stare.

“You see, Anxiety, whatever it is you are feeling _here,_ ”

Deceit stabbed his finger into the other man’s chest, over his heart.

“It's ruining everything we once had, and what you have now.”

Virgil grit his teeth, moving to smack Deceit’s hand off of him; but to no avail. Something was tugging at his mind, stopping him from everything he had wanted to do.

**_He’s right, Anxiety._ **

**_You hurt your own family, then the mains, and now yourself._ **

**_You wouldn't dare raise a hand to someone offering you a second chance, would you?_ **

**_You wouldn't hit him, not like you hit Roman._ **

**_Not like you hurt him._ **

**_Hurt them._ **

**_You hurt them all._ **

**_Filthy dark side._ **

Deceit cooed, pressing his hand under Virgil’s chin, his thumb brushing over the younger’s lips. His other hand released Virgil’s arm, placing it hard on the back of the man’s head; Deceit held onto his hair for good measure.

He leaned forward, teasing his lips against Virgil’s newly formed tears.

“Now, now, don't cry. Once you return home to us, we will forgive you. You can have it all again, and all this pain will be gone.

We can make them _pay_ for the hurt they caused you.”

Virgil could feel his hands start to burn, the thick substance of his own fears beginning to crawl on him again. Voice cracking with the pain, he finally responded.

“I- I would rather be somewhere where people ha-hated me, than where people exploit me to hurt those I love.”

**_Wrong answer._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos, it all means so much to me! Your comments make my day, so if you are enjoying this absolute nightmare, don't feel shy to say so!
> 
> Love you all.


	8. This hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So where the hell are the others during this long month of Virgil's torture?

Silence was the new normal around the mindscape.

It was never precious, never peaceful. Everyone walked on eggshells around each other, too afraid to break the air.

It was a heartbreaking discomfort between friends.

It was day thirty-two now.

Just past a month since their youngest had suddenly forced them away again.

It wasn't unusual for Virgil to keep himself away for a few days after recording a video, but as of late, he had been spending comfortable time with the other sides.

After the video, however, Patton witnessed a sudden change in Anxiety’s character. He was more franric than usual, his paranoia was increased, and he began lashing out.

Three hours after the four had filmed their latest video, the sound of something heavy hitting the floor upstairs alerted the sides of Virgil. When they found him, it took five minutes to knock him out of the panic attack he was suffering.

Virgil responded with violence.

The anger and resent directed towards them from Virgil was the last thing Patton had ever expected from his dear friend.

The physical and verbal attacks the three received from Anxiety repeated themselves on an unending loop in Patton’s mind.

At first, Patton was distraught, taking the attacks personally. He had wanted to confront the other side, try talking it out, but Logan had stopped him; Virgil needed time to cool. 

But the way the others found him, quaking in a crumple at the top of the stairs, with eyes glazed over and his skin so cold, it terrified the eldest. 

It always took some courage to make contact with Virgil, to try touching him without the looming fear of his _companions_ , but Roman hadn't even hesitated to run up the small flight to the panicked facet.

Roman’s presence made the darkness surrounding Virgil lessen, causing his breathing to ease slightly.

Patton had thought they were going to be okay after that.

The cry of pain that came from the fanciful side dashed that thought.

Virgil was gone almost immediately after that.

The more that Patton replayed the events in his mind, the more emotional he had become. Patton was terrified for his youngest, his heart twisting painfully at the reality Virgil was most likely facing.

He must be in such pain.

Patton was seated on the couch, the soft chatter of cartoons on the television in front of him masking the sounds around him.

From behind him in the kitchen, Logan was cleaning up the leftovers from dinner. Scraping away the scraps into the trash, his gaze fell on a single plate on the dining table.

Patton had kept it cling wrapped, his large handwriting decorating the wrinkles.

_‘Virgil'_

It was written messily, but Patton had still taken the extra initiative to dot the i’s with hearts.

Logan sighed as he took the plate, sliding it into the fridge. He removed the other plate, a small one topped with waffles, and set it on the counter. 

For the sixty-third time, Logan discarded the extra food. A few feet away, Patton sniffed.

Roman, who had been seated in Virgil's corner on the stairs, was the first to speak.

“Patton, you _can't_ keep doing this to yourself.”

Almost immediately, Roman regretted saying it. Watching the way Patton’s face crumpled, a single tear brushing past his lenses, it was gut wrenching. 

Yet Roman persisted.

“We- I’m afraid we have to just accept that waiting for him to show up again, waiting for him to respond to us, is wasting our time.”

Patton made eye-contact with the younger side, his face worn with drowsiness and worry. He said nothing, displaying no particular emotion.

Patton was in a state unlike any he had ever been in before.

“Patton, for all we know, he could be gone.”

Roman’s eyes fell downcast as he spoke, his shoulders shrugging. Patton sniffed again, doing the same.

Logan stepped out from the kitchen behind the living space, his demeanour hadn't remained unscathed by the conversation; no longer indifferent. He took a seat next to Patton on the couch, allowing a comforting hand rest on the upset facet’s knee.

Patton shifted so that his legs were pulled to his chest, knowing what was about to come.

Logan sighed once more, adjusting his glasses slightly before turning inwards to the eldest.

“Patton, we both understand that this situation has caused you to become emotionally compromised; it _is_ in your nature to feel overly emotional at most times. However, it has been too long that we have had to watch as you self destruct-”

Patton shook his head, burying his head into his arms.

“Logan, don't-”

“Your emotional state has been consistently negative for quite some time now, and its become extraordinarily upsetting.”

“Logan-”

“Understand that we _are_ worried for Virgil, very worried, but our curiosity of his disappearance _cannot_ take over our lives.”

Patton’s face was beginning to twist, the logical facet’s words churning his heart. The moral side removed his glasses, wiping his eyes with his arm clumsily. 

Roman hesitated before he took a seat on the couch, sitting against Patton’s other side. He wrapped a slow arm around the parental side, pulling him into a half-comforting hold.

Logan toyed with his hands in his lap, watching sympathetically as Patton curled against Roman, his face hidden in Princey’s shoulder.

“I do miss his presence quite a bit.. I’m, frankly,upset at myself for not being able to identify why this has happened. Nonetheless, if Virgil is facing a large sum of stress, being alone might help him recover; we need to grant him his right to that..”

Roman nodded as indication of doubling the statement, his arm squeezing around Patton’s shoulders. 

“We _all_ miss him, and we don't know if he’s coming back anytime soon; all we can do is wait for him to be ready on his own.”

Patton only nodded in response, a shuddering breath escaping his lips.

Logan murmured, his eyes focused on the stairs.

“It’s all for him, it has been this whole time.”

Roman responded, his voice just barely above a whisper.

“This hurts us more than it will ever hurt him..”

Little did the three know, that beyond the stairs and inside Virgil’s room, those exact words were just spoken.

_Right before Virgil was punched out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off the song This Hurts by MSI.
> 
> Sorry this came out so late, guys. I really struggled writing this, as it is mostly a filler chapter so that the ending can come out making more sense.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is still kicking around
> 
> Love you all, L


	9. Backstabber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this is a fucked up chapter :^)))
> 
> This is about as bad as it gets so please do not fret.

_“This hurts me more than it will ever hurt you”._

That was the last thing Virgil heard before Deceit struck him.

The force at which he had been hit knocked him back hard, causing head to swell with sudden pain. His ears were ringing, colourful flashes dancing behind his eyelids from how tight he had closed them.

Virgil felt dizzy as his senses attacked him; his senses failing him.

_SMACK!_

His head was forcefully spun once again as Deceit’s open hand made contact with Virgil’s cheek.

“Pay attention to what I’m saying.”

The older side’s voice was pure venom, cold and calm as his hard eyes observed the younger.

Virgil forced his eyes to focus on the other’s face, his head tilted upwards to look at him. Deceit’s fist was curled into the front of Anxiety’s collar, raising him slightly. 

Deceit tilted his head, the reptilian eye piercing into Virgil. With his free hand, Deceit ran his index finger down Virgil’s now-burning cheek. 

He tisked, his glove became slightly dampened as it trailed against a tear stream Virgil failed to hold back.

_“Pathetic.”_

With that, Virgil was released from Deceit’s hold. He dropped to his knees, spacing out his hands on the floor to keep himself upright.

Anxiety was visibly trembling, his long bangs obscuring his features; he was hiding the pain he’d endured.

He thought that would be the end, he _prayed_ it was the end. 

**_You know you deserve more._ **

Virgil ignored the screaming pain that was covering his hands; dark swirls of black crept up his arms like watercolour. 

_**You betrayed everyone.** _

Around him, a frenzy of voices occupied his attention, the chatter growing in intensity as the shadows carved their marks into his arms and around his torso.

_**Filthy dark side.** _

A defeated sob choked its way out of Virgil, his arms moving to tear away at the thick substances engulfing him.

His attention had been diverted from his attacker.

_He should have known better._

Deceit kicked suddenly, making contact with the damaged facet’s face. It was swift, intentional and cruel as it struck him, sending him lurching back. A hand flew up to his mouth, and when Virgil pulled back his quaking fingers, blood coated them.

He parted his lips, moaning in pain, but blood seeped into his agape mouth. His lip had been split, the force cutting it against his teeth.

It was _then_ Virgil realized what he was truly in for.

“You realize that _this_ would be your life forever if you stay, don't you?”

Deceit scowled at the smaller side, his footsteps trailing circles around him. His eyes never left his prey, observing critically.

When Virgil turned his head back down, avoiding the other’s gaze, a hiss escaped the deceptive side. 

Deceit wanted his toy to watch him.

A kick to the side of the ribs sent Virgil to lay on the floor. He rolled onto his side, wincing hard as his hands groped at his damaged area. 

Virgil groaned uselessly when Deceit’s heel forced the younger side to roll onto his back again. Weight stood on Anxiety’s chest as the taller side glared upon him with disgust.

“I want you to look at me. You want you to see me when you feel this. You need to understand it is _me_ who is doing this to you, I’m teaching you a lesson. “

Anxiety tried to croak a response, but the blood drying his lips together pulled at the delicate wound, forcing him to keep silent.

Deceit lifted his weight off of Virgil, stifling a humourless snort as he promptly stomped on the man’s body, hard and deliberate.

“ _This_ is what your life would be without me.”

Pain shot through his body, causing his eyes to prickle with tears. Water filled his mind, making him feel sick; the taste of blood and bile stung the back of his throat.

His pain was responded with loud cackles from around him.

Virgil’s skin went screaming hot as his entertained shadows gripped him.

They were absolutely _delighted_ to get to watch the show.

_**You deserve this all.** _

Their long fingers wrapped around Virgil’s arms and side, jerking him to roll onto his shoulder gleefully.

Deceit’s grin grew wider with every one of their movements.

_Finally_ , he had something that wanted Anxiety like he did.

_Finally, he had help._

Virgil felt sharp pressure in his gut when Deceit kicked again, knocking the breath from his lungs. He coughed and wheezed for a moment, his heart stuttering in his chest from the irregular pattern of breath.

Again, another kick.

“You will end up _killing yourself_ if you stay.”

Another.

“ _This_ is what you'd do to yourself without me to protect you.”

Another.

Virgil felt something snap.

“Those others don't give a _fuck_ about you, Anxiety.”

_Another._

“They will hurt you. I can keep you safe, keep you _useful_.”

_Another._

Virgil was choking as he tried to keep breathing, his chest heaving. He couldn't move his limbs, couldn’t protect himself; the demons surrounding him had him immobile. 

All he could do was whimper and whisper out mercy pleas with every strike.

They fell on deaf ears.

After an agonizing stretch of time, Deceit stepped away from the beaten side; his face lit with sadistic joy.

The shadows let go of him, too.

Virgil slumped back hard, his whole body _screaming._ His breaths were short and insufficient, blood caking his features from where he had been struck repeatedly.

_**You deserved it.** _

_**Hell, I’d say more.** _

Anxiety’s eyelids fell shut, his eyes burning dry from the tears he’d produced.

His ears rang loud, the laughter and whispers of shadows around him becoming staticy. He could only feel pain.

He could only feel fear.

He could only feel regret,

Deceit's hand on his back.

The standing man frowned and ran a gentle hand through Virgil’s hair, kneeling down to better feel the man he’d beaten into such a state.

The anxious trait tensed.

Deceit sighed gently and kissed Virgil’s temple, his cold lips brushing against the other man’s skin as he crooned into his ear.

“This is all for you, Anxiety. It always has been. If you learned anything from this, I expect to see you home with us again.”

Then there was something cold pressed against the nape of Virgil’s neck.

_Fuck._

“If not,”

Deceit continued, trailing the cold tool down Virgil’s shoulders.

“Then you deserve this.”

Pressure.

_Pressure._

_Pain._

_Blood._

_Painpainpainpain._

_Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop._

_**This is what you deserve, a taste of your own medicine, backstabber.** _

Oh, it hurt so bad, but Virgil was unable to even react anymore. He couldn't cry, couldn't scream.

He couldn't even resist the attack in the slightest.

Deceit had disappeared from the room almost immediately, leaving Virgil grimacing and beaten to a pulp on his floor.

Leaving Virgil alone with the shadows that haunted the room.

After the disappearance of his cruel counterpart, Virgil had succumbed to the injuries, allowing the cloud to take his mind.

With that, Virgil passed out; the first rest he’d been granted in over a month.

He stayed there defeated, with scars and cuts littering his body, shadows decorating his ghostly pale skin.

Virgil seemed completely lifeless, had it not been for how shaky is breath was. The shudder in his exhale brought attention to the small knife erected into his back, glittering in what little light the room had left to offer.

Backstabber gets his own back.

_**You deserved it.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hurt your friends, kids.
> 
> 's bad. 
> 
> N e way, have fun reading this nightmare.
> 
> Love you all, L.


	10. Broken dishes, broken hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, sorry I was gone so long, guys! I was out on a school trip for about two weeks and was unable to update because of it! But here you go, the next chapter! 
> 
> In all honesty, I'm sorry. For both the delay, AND what you are about to read.

It had only been a few hours since Logan and Roman had their talk with Patton. It had only been a few hours since the ice was finally broken between the three.

Without the ice, they were drowning in the water.

Roman was quick to try mending the situation, despite all three being tender-hearted and too-aware of each other.

Movie night. 

It was the first one they had had together since Virgil vanished.

It had always been a task that brought them peace, brought them enjoyment, and brought them close as a group.

Its funny how four grown men could bond over film.

_No- three, now._

It had become such a frequent event in the shared commons to gather twice or thrice a week for a movie or more; everyone always looked forward to it, despite how they may have expressed that fondness.

Despite that history, all three felt withdrawn from the night set up before them.

They couldn't help it.

They were guilty.

It was _wrong._

He wasn't there with them.

_He should be there, with them._

Patton’s hands were shaking slightly as he boiled the water.

Usually, both Virgil and Patton would make the hot cocoa together, always being sure to add obscene amounts of sugar into each drink.

But tonight, Patton was all alone.

They were all aware of that.

Logan had offered to help Patton earlier, but the older side refused the gesture.

It wouldn't be the same.

Logan took no offense to it.

He understood.

Even Roman wasn't his usual chirpy self when he shuffled around for movies. On even the worst of days, the prince would think out-loud while selecting the films. The fanciful side’s sing-songy voice was usually met with a light-hearted tease from the youngest on the film nights.

But as of tonight, Roman was not bounding with joy.

Why bother if there was nobody there to call him out on it?

The silence from both his companions made Patton’s heart ache. Everything was so _wrong_ , so out of place. The silence just cemented the paternal side’s negative thoughts into place.

His vision blurred with tears as he worked.

Patton sniffed; he didn't want to go through with this night at all, but he had no choice. Roman was working hard to try balancing things out, to keep them all optimistic when Patton was failing to.

But he just _couldn't._

Pushing his glasses up to his forehead, Patton wiped his eyes quickly; his spare hand shuffling through the cupboard to take the mugs.

He looped his index finger through the handles of multiple, pulling them out without even looking at them.

He hadn't hooked one fully, Patton had noticed after it had already fallen to the ground, smashing to the tile.

The sound of shattering ceramics snapped Patton out of his trance, his heart leaping at the sudden dramatic sound.

Looking down, Patton stared at the remains of a white mug scattered across the kitchen floor.

It was a cheesy Pumpkin King cup, one Roman had gifted to Virgil on his birthday just a few months earlier.

Virgil’s favourite one.

_That's_ what finally broke Patton.

Roman and Logan found Patton sitting on the floor in a ball. His one hand white-knuckled around his glasses, protecting them from his loud sobbing.

They were wordless as they took a seat on either of his sides, supportive arms snaking their ways around the emotionally unstable Patton’s body.

Logan was first to speak after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.

“Patton-”

“I-I can't do this anymore.”

Patton had cut him off immediately, his face turned upwards, eyes red.

“I-I _can't_ and I’m _sorry_..”

Patton sniffed as he wriggled to stand up again, miserably looking down at the shattered ceramics. 

Broken.

Scattered edges lodged themselves everywhere, the center of the cup appearing vulnerable.

Pieces are missing.

It was incomplete.

Useless without the joined unit.

Like their family.

Roman frowned as he stood, placing a strong hand against Patton’s shoulder sympathetically. 

“Oh, don't you fret about it.. We can- we can fix it.”

The royal smiled, but there was no emotion behind it. His hand squeezed Patton’s shoulder before looking back at Logan, who was still seated on the floor behind them.

But Logic only met the look with a frown and a slow shake of his head.

Patton whispered then, leaning hard against the prince.

“I don't _want_ this to be fixed, I- I don't care about dishes. I want to fix _us_ \- I- I want to put the pieces back together. Nothing feels right and we aren't _working_.”

His face crumpled, hands finding their way back to his eyes, rubbing hard.

“I just want my son back, my friend, _our_ friend.. Poor, sweet Virgil back..”

His breath was laboured as Patton tried hard to choke back more tears, sniffling into Roman’s shoulder as he was held tight.

The scene finally took its toll on Logan.

He’d seen too much, now.

“You're right.”

The logical side took a stand again, staring hard into the red eyes of his older counterpart. Patton seemed surprised beyond his misery, eyebrows drawn together in a tight curl of confusion.

“But- Logan.. Earlier you said- you said that-”

Logan raised a hand and bowed his head.

“I know what I said.. I.. Patton, I’m just scared for him, okay?”

He took off his glasses, gently tucking them into his breast pocket as he approached the other two. Patton looked at the younger side with a cocktail of both sorrow and worry and hope boiling behind the waterworks in his eyes, mumbling as he spoke.

“You just- you seemed so.. So _content_ through all of this, I-”

“I thought distance would help, giving him what he wants would be _beneficial_ to him. I can see now that the distance I’m forcing you to give him is now just fueling everyone's displeasure.”

His head tipped up, a frown pulling downwards on Logan’s lips.

“I can only imagine that by doing this to you, to _Virgil_ , Thomas is most likely suffering.. Because of my actions, my ideas..”

Logan trailed off, squeezing his eyes tightly together, his chest feeling overwhelmingly full and cold.

He really didn't mean to hurt dear Patton, to neglect sweet Virgil, and _especially_ not to negatively affect Thomas.

But now, Logan had realized that he screwed up. 

But he was going to end it now.

He was going to fix them.

“Let’s go upstairs, and let's go get him; we can make everything okay again, then.”

He felt something slam into him, then, knocking him back a few feet. When he looked down, Patton was clinging onto him, his face hidden into Logan’s polo. The paternal side’s arms clung to Logan, who returned the hold by wrapping his arms around the man.

Patton sniffed, further burying his head into Logan’s collar, his words muffled by the cloth.

“Thank you.”

Logan wasn't given any time to respond, because just as quickly as he was in Logan’s embrace, Patton was out and running up the stairs behind Roman.

Logan smiled softly, shuffling his way up the staircase to the sides’ rooms.

They were going to fix this.

Things were going to be okay.

They would resolve it.

Everything was going to be fine.

_Oh, how naïve they were to think that._

_They were far too late for that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around, my lovelies. It means everything to me that you all leave such nice comments and expel your emotions about this piece of shit literature. 
> 
> I promise the next update will be very quick.
> 
> Love you all, Lo.


	11. End of life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw the title of this chapter and got scared, I'm sorry, nobody is actually dying.
> 
> Yet.
> 
> This chapter was influenced by the song End Of Life by Death Spells.
> 
> Good song. Death Spells helps me write lots of my angst stories.

Roman was quick to make it up the stairs and into the long hallway that connected all of their realms together. Patton’s heavy footsteps were close behind, the sound of his heavier breathing filling the empty corridor.

The lights were shut off, responsibly of course, to save power. The dim hall added a layer of worry to the fanciful facet, his gut twisting uncomfortably.

Something didn't feel right.

So when Patton flicked the switch on and the row of lights illuminated the hall, his eyes fell upon what was causing him to feel remarkably unsettled.

Virgil’s bedroom door, the one at the very end of the hall, had been distorted.

He froze, watching with a wide eyed stare as the bedroom door pulsed slightly. Black circles inked its ways around the corners and gaps of the door, the wispy black of shadows etching themselves into the crevices of the wood.

It was enough to make all three stop dead in their tracks.

It’s not that they were _surprised_ about it,

All three had encountered Virgil’s ‘companions' before.

This.. This was different.

Whenever the other sides saw Virgil’s shadows, it would be a handful of them at a time, always directly attached to their host; attached to Virgil’s movements.

Never had they witnessed such a concentrated amount in one area.

Never had they seen them autonomous.

“What on Earth-?”

Roman was moving again, speeding his way down the narrow hall to the entrance of their youngest’s room, his hands resting lightly onto the wooden frame of the door.

Dark circles of black coated Roman’s fingertips, causing his face to scrunch with repulsion. The substances making their way onto his hands made his skin tingle lightly, as though pins and needles were present. The texture of the formless demons worked as an adhesive, Roman’s fingers peeling the blackness apart when his fingers moved.

He shuddered hard at the unpleasant feeling, shaking his hand to rid it of the beast.

Logan was quick to join him, his lips parted and eyes drawn narrowed as he studied the enigma that was Virgil’s door before him.

“This was _not_ like this this morning..”

Logan’s usually assured tone wavered, the phrase escaping him as a question rather than a statement.

When Logan turned his head towards Patton, he had realized that the eldest was still frozen in place on the landing, a hand cupped over his mouth in shock.

Patton was beginning to shake, no longer shuddering with tears, but with fear.

“This- this must have just happened-”

Roman huffed in response, a wave of dread suddenly dowsing him.

Virgil was inside whatever this mess was.

Now he was determined to set things straight tonight.

Roman clutched at the doorknob, wriggling it in place for a bit before cursing under his breath.

Patton only whispered back.

“Locked..?”

“Locked.”

Patton opened his mouth to speak, to suggest an alternative way to enter, but Logan spoke first, gifting Patton a side-glance.

“We can't rise into his room if it has been locked. His sheer will to keep private will keep us forced away.”

Patton knew that his younger counterpart was right, that they only had two options at this point.

They could either wait until Virgil let them in himself, or-

**BANG!**

Well, Roman figured out their other option.

The sound made both the elder sides spin their heads around to face Roman again, eyes blown wide with the jump.

Roman had his teeth grit, bracing himself lightly against the wall, his one leg still on its way down after kicking at the wood.

The door slowly creaked open, the top of the hinges busted inwards upon being struck so violently. 

Roman had his left hand braced against the handle of his sword, ready to swing if anything were to jump out of the black room. When he decided that the room was safe enough to enter without the need of weaponry, the prince dropped the blade handle.

“Well, come on, then.”

Roman glanced at the others, jerking his head towards the newly-opened door. The look of hardset determination had overcome anything else Roman may have felt, his gaze firm.

Patton would have protested, been hesitant to enter the room without consent of the owner; especially after breaking into the said room, an incredibly immoral act.

But Patton had done his waiting.

He needed to get to their missing piece.

Logan was first to lean in, pushing the door further open. The scrape of the wood against the floor made him cringe; the broken door was definitely going to leave scratches on Virgil’s flooring.

As the sliver of grey light scrawled its way into the room, they finally heard it.

Static.

Loud, unintelligible static.

It wasn't anything they had never heard before, occasionally one of them would catch an ear of a shadow’s voice. It was that exact same grumble of white noise, speaking a language they couldn't understand.

But then, it was rare they ever heard it.

Whenever they _did_ hear it, Virgil would grimace and go silent around them, his eyes welling and swollen.

It was easy to connect the dots.

So they _never_ heard this many ‘voices' at once before.

Never had they heard it this loud.

Never had they witnessed the effect it had.

But now they had.

_If so little could harm Virgil before, then what would all of this be doing to him?_

Roman cussed, dramatically covering his ears with his hands, squinting into the darkness.

“Virgil?”

His voice had a tinge of uncertainty behind it, the evident sign of worry becoming ever more present in Roman. His fingers traced against the wall, ignoring the sticky shadows coating the walls as if it were the fucking wallpaper.

When he found the lightswitch, he flicked it up, shielding his eyes.

But nothing happened.

The room was in an eternal state of darkness, a shroud of misery filling the empty atmosphere.

They were going to have to go in blind.

Roman took a hesitant step forward, peering into the darkness as if sheer will could light his path. Under his heel, broken glass crunched; a sign of his trespassing in the room.

Roman’s head shot downwards to see what he had broken, a shiver racing up his spine when he saw it was Virgil’s lamp.

His mind went whirring.

He kept moving onwards, the squeal of broken glass tracing behind him as Logan and Patton followed behind.

Patton was shaking in the presence of the suffocating darkness, his voice raising an octave each time he called for his youngest.

Each call of his name seemed to echo in the room, making the static around them feel hollowed and raw.

Despite the intensity of noise around them, silence met their pleas.

Patton lurched onwards; all three were now spread to different sections of the open space to locate the unresponsive Virgil. Bracing his hand against the wall, the paternal side gazed towards a hanging portrait.

Patton gave the frames to Virgil a few months ago, a cheesy collage-style base which held a handful of photographs within them. The moral trait smiled sadly, allowing himself to become distracted as he gently ran a finger over the glass.

His hand retracted quickly.

His fingers were bleeding now.

The glass was shattered out from over the picture of all four together, situated in a group embrace.

Squinting into the darkness, Patton realized the picture was damaged.

Everyone’s bright faces were wide eyed and smiling, all but one.

There was a tear along the left-hand side of the photo.

Virgil had torn himself out of the photo; the missing piece abandoned on the floor below.

Patton felt his chest tighten, covering his hand with his mouth as he bent down to pick up the photo scrap, stuffing it into his breast pocket hastily.

He wouldn't leave it behind.

Taking a step back, Patton allowed himself to examine the room again; it was a short lived search.

His head spun over his shoulder, quick enough to make him dizzy, when Roman started shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Patt, Logan, get over here _now!_ ”

It took no time at all for both to bolt towards the fanciful side, both panting a little from the run.

Roman looked up at the two elders from his position on the floor, eyes wide as saucers.

He licked his dry lips nervously, shifting his body to turn inwards to the others.

There in his arms, curled against the chest of the prince, was a very frail, and _very_ broken looking Virgil.

_Still, and outwardly lifeless._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this chapter was based on the song End of Life by Death Spells; I highly recommend you listen to it.
> 
> (Or google the lyrics, because its such a pretty song oml)
> 
> thank you all for reading on, anyway! 
> 
> Love you all so much, Lo.


	12. For his sake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I've started to realize that this whole story is definitely the same as Blink-182's I Miss You. 
> 
> Hmmmmm...
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this hell! Nobody is doing well :^)

They should have been moving fast, after that.

They all could see the surrounding area, the stains on Virgil’s face when Roman held him close; they knew whatever happened was serious, and that they needed to _go._

But they couldn't.

Maybe it was the shock of finding Anxiety unconscious, the shock of his surroundings.

Maybe it was the guilt that was all-consuming as all three stared at their youngest, knowing their neglect inevitably led to this.

Or maybe it was the crippling fear that constricted them in place. All three men were huddled close in silence and surprise, the dark rings of makeup coating their eyes until their features were similar to skeletons.

Nobody seemed to be able to break the silence.

Silence.

That was something else that they had been able to note.

Upon their discovery of poor Virgil, the chatter around them had simply ceased.

But it wasn't _just_ Virgil’s shadows that stopped; everything else in the room had gone completely still.

Voices were no more, the outside noises from the hallway were gone, the heater in the room stopped its purring, and even the faint hum of electricity within the room had silenced itself.

Everything was completely and utterly still.

Who knows how long passed before they had come to their senses again; able to understand what was happening before them. It could have been seconds or minutes, possibly even an hour. 

Not that it mattered; Virgil’s room altered time within the realm, it could never truly be recorded how long anything took in there.

The clock, which was currently knocked to the floor, whirred its hands around rapidly; impatiently waiting for the others to leave the unfamiliar place.

The inanimate object must have been thrilled when Logan finally opened his mouth.

“What we need to do is get ourselves and Virgil _out_ from here. We can see if he has anything that needs attending to and fix everything up before-”

Before Logan could finish his thought, stammering through his words as he fought back the anxiety welling inside him, Roman was rising to his feet.

Roman fumbled as he stood hastily, cupping Virgil to his body in bridal-style and shifting the smaller man’s body so that he rested against the prince’s chest.

The cradle was protective, convincing enough to make it appear as though Virgil _wasn’t_ on the brink of meeting with death; or at least malnutrition.

Roman was horrifically surprised how light Virgil’s body was, even with it hanging with limp, dead weight.

All three sides were quick to make their exit. Exchanging nervous glances, they all sunk out; relocating themselves to the shared mind palace.

Before Roman fully sunk, he gave Virgil’s back a gentle stroke; hoping his touch could comfort the unconscious boy at least fractionally. 

His fingers met with cold metal.

Oh.

_Oh fuck._

Disappearing from the dark room, Roman pressed his fingers tight into Virgil’s back, adding pressure where he knew it was going to be needed.

“Make space on the couch.”

Roman rose up into the shared living room with a bit of a stutter in his step. He lurched forward, not used to having to transport more than just himself through their individual realms.

Patton, who was now devoid of the dark rings of eye makeup, quickly shuffled the throw pillows and blankets away from the middle of the couch; Logan pushed away the coffee table in front of the couch, too.

Logan must have branched away into his own realm before he came to the shared area; on the table sat a small medicine box and a bottle of water, obviously just a precaution in case the young facet awoke.

Thank fuck he did bring it. 

Hopefully they had everything that could fix the boy in princey’s arms.

Without another word, Roman kneeled, gently shuffling Virgil onto the couch on his side. With ease, he soothed the anxious trait onto his stomach, eyes glued to the object sticking out loudly from his frail body.

A choked noise came from Patton when Roman stepped away, allowing his older counterparts to observe Virgil. With hands over his mouth, Patton gawked at his youngest’s wound; the weapon still glittering within the broken man.

Logan didn't hesitate to reach forward, kneeling by the couch with one hand poised on the small of Virgil’s back.

“Patton, can you come over and just press right here, please?”

Looking over his shoulder, Logan’s eyes darted towards the standing facet, peering through his eyelashes at the older side.

He frowned when Patton turned away instead, his hands over his lenses to shield his eyes from the gore before him. 

Logan could identify the shaky nature of Patton’s breath; the way his shoulders slumped forward into himself.

Motioning for Roman instead, he continued his work, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the small butter knife lodged below Virgil’s shoulder.

The blade handle was stained slightly grey, the metal cold and sticky to his touch. As he reached with his other hand to add pressure to the younger man’s shoulder blade, something curled around his wrist and _pulled_. 

Logan scowled and ripped his arm away, releasing the knife to dust his forearm clear of the gooey substance that had interrupted him; the remaining ‘body' of a shadow dangling limp around his limb from where it was torn from Virgil.

Delicate static aired around the dark boy, the black substance retracting back into the safety of their host’s hoodie. Logan gazed down with an observant eye, watching as Virgil’s pale skin seemed to sizzle under their contact.

Realization dawned on him.

“We can't stay here.”

Patton turned again, eyes wide and glassy.

“What- what do you mean? We have to leave _here, too?”_

“These… these _things_ won't follow us into reality- Thomas’ realm; I don't know if they even _can_. We can work without interruption out there.”

Logan stood again, his fingertips blotted with blood, matching the deep red stains on Roman’s tunic.

“If you can't stomach to watch this- can you at least go warn Thomas; get him away from the open living area?”

Patton nodded in response, comically gulping at the lump developing in his throat. Shooting a look of apprehension towards their direction, Patton sunk out, a soft _“you got it, Lo.”_ escaping his lips.

Logan sighed with disdain, watching as Roman scooped Virgil into his arms delicately once more.

“Careful of his back-”

“I _got_ it.”

Logan was almost taken aback by Roman’s tone; unsteady and firm wasn't usually the creative trait’s go-to.

He knew it was manifested terror and woe, however.

He let it slide.

A concerned sigh sounded from Logan as he stepped forward to Virgil, his eyebrows drawn tight and lips pursed as he let his fingers comb through the wounded side’s bangs.

Sweeping the hair out of Virgil’s face, he studied the beaten features below the messy purple. 

Black and purple littered the face of the young man, vibrant red occasionally making an appearance beyond the dried blood-sealed scratches along his features.

Bruising and exhaustion replaced the heavy eye makeup Virgil consistently sported, one eye encased with rings of said bruises. 

Logan rested a hand on Virgil’s right cheek, the one with the least damage, and stroked it protectively. 

His thumbstrokes were ragged against dried blood that trailed from Virgil’s lips and nostrils, causing him to pull back. Streams of red now disturbed by Logan’s touch were loud against Virgil’s ghostly skin.

“Don't be afraid, Virgil..”

Logan spoke numbly, unaware he was even speaking.

“It’s going to get better, from here.”

A promise he hoped he could keep; a promise he swore to himself he would keep.

He had to; for the sake of them all.

For his sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always incredibly strange for me to write out Logan's nickname as "Lo" because hey!!! That's my name!!! 
> 
> Unintentionally, of course; It is my full legal name lol.
> 
> Thanks for putting up w/ my shit! If you have any comments/concerns/suggestions, please leave a comment! You guys are so so so very inspiring when I write these chapters.
> 
> Love you all, Lo.


	13. Link to reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello friends! I finally put Thomas in this shitshow! Everybody is in agony plus one, now.
> 
> Sorry.

Thomas was passed out on the couch when Patton rose up, much to his relief.

His head was propped up by his arm, which was digging into the couch fabric roughly; it had escaped the fluffy cushioning of the blanket draped around the rest of his body. 

Patton took a moment to smile as he stepped towards the sleeping man, resisting the tug in his mind that told him to tuck Thomas in more.

This was the first time the moral side had seen Thomas in nearly a month. It wasn't necessarily an unusual span of time, as they were technically with him at all time, arguing within his busy mind; but they were absent for different reason now.

They couldn't face the questions Thomas would inevitably ask.

He knew that if he woke his host, those questions would come out. 

He wanted to flee, to duck into his own realm again and escape the situation entirely, but Patton was here for a reason.

Leaning over the sofa, Patton pushed Thomas’ bangs out from his closed eyes.

He looked less like Virgil that way.

Trailing his hand back, he squeezed the man’s shoulder, whispering to him until he was stirring.

“Hey, kiddo..”

Patton’s voice was gentle, smiling through the words forcibly so that his demeanour would not frighten Thomas.

After a few shakes of the shoulder, Thomas cracked one eye open, sleep deprivation immediately apparent in his unfocused gaze. His lips parted to let out a small groan, closing his eye again.

Encasing himself within the blanket, Thomas side shuffled on the couch, instinctively making room for the parental side. Patton accepted, taking a seat next to the half-awake Thomas; running a hand over his blanketed body in thanks.

“You been down here napping?”

Thomas shrugged at the question, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles as he yawned. 

“Myeah, guess I just dozed off again..”

Patton furrowed his eyebrows.

“Again-?”

“Mmmhm. Haven't been having the best time for a while; sleeping at night can be tough.”

Even through his exhaustion, Thomas was able to connect the dots.

“You guys don't happen to have anything to do with that, do you?”

Staring at his moral side with bleary, red eyes, Thomas poked at Patton with the first question; the floodgate was about to be opened now.

Thomas humoured himself with an emotionless smile, possibly due to his current sleepy state; it made Patton cringe.

“I don't really know, kiddo. Things _have_ been a little weird, but I don't know if you'd be feeling any of it-”

He stopped momentarily, tongue caught in his teeth as he internally debated starting the fire that was conversation.

“How _have_ you been feeling recently, anyway?”

Thomas emitted a weak laugh, shaking his head a little before he buried it in the blanket. 

“Oh, god.. I have _no_ clue, Patt.”

Patton frowned, placing his hand over the other man’s comfortingly.

“It's okay to talk about it, kiddo. Maybe I can help you out here!”

Being perky felt vile to Patton, who was currently beaming at Thomas encouragingly, but he had to be strong for him.

He had to.

“Patton, I- I don't know, buddy. Things have just been-”

Thomas sighed with exasperation, speaking with his hands for added visual effect. 

“Scrambled.”

He linked his fingers of both hands together, dropping them heavily into his lap as he closed his eyes.

“I mean- you of all people should know that I’m not exactly the most casual person. When I feel things, I _really_ feel things.”

Patton nodded along, squeezing Thomas’ shoulder gently as he spoke.

“So, what's different now?”

Thomas visually slumped, his hair obscuring his eyes as he spoke with a low mumble.

“Earlier, it was mostly just a lot of feeling heavy; too tired or negative for my own good, I guess. Recently, though, I haven't felt much of _anything_. I’m empty, I guess. Closed off? I don't know how to explain it.”

He shuffled in his seat, averting his eyes from the concerned figure beside him.

“What's goin’ on, Patton? I’ve just been feeling what you've been feeling, right? I mean, you are my emotions, sort of-”

Patton shook his head, sighing gently.

“Well, not exactly, sport. What you've been feeling is probably the _lack_ of my presence?”

That caused Thomas to look back at his oldest side, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“What do you mean by that? You didn't like, ‘duck out’ did you? I mean, I know Virgil did that one time, but I don't see why you would feel the need to-”

Patton silenced his host with another shake of the head, smiling in a sad sense.

“No, I’ve not quacked out.. I’m still with you at all times. What's different there is that I’ve forced myself into a place so that you _don't_ have to feel my emotions, I guess is how I should put it.”

Thomas opened his mouth, another question forming on his lips. The moral side was quick to stop his train of thought.

“Thomas, things haven't been going well for a long time at home; in your head. I haven't been in top shape, really; nobody has been.”

Tangling his fingers together, Patton fidgetted in place, occasionally peeking at Thomas, soaking in the worried faces he was making.

“I decided that maybe, to spare you the trouble, I should just turn my influence down while I was feeling bad. I thought- maybe Roman would take over, let you feel fine and full of life, like he always does!”

He turned his body inwards, making eye contact with Thomas. Fingers detangling from each other, he reached out to place his hands on Thomas’ shoulders.

“I’m super duper sorry that I let you down, kiddo.. Had I known that you were feeling so awful-”

“Patton, what's been going on with you four?”

The way Thomas spoke was dull, his voice revealing nothing; it managed to shut Patton up immediately.

“Patton?”

Thomas spoke again, softer this time. Reaching up, he placed his hand over Patton’s, who was still holding Thomas’ shoulder. He gazed with doughy eyes at his parental side, frowning as he watched tears begin to prickle the corner of Patton’s eyes.

“If something is wrong, I want to know. Please, Patt, I don't want to pretend everything is okay when it is so clearly not.”

With a shuddering breath, Patton leaned in, bracing his forehead on top of his hands, which were still on Thomas’ shoulder. He felt one of Thomas’ hands rub up and down his spine comfortingly, pulling the man closer.

“‘S Virgil; he's been-”

Patton’s words were coming out forced, causing him to croak uselessly; but Thomas was silent, obviously encouraging the emotional trait to speak.

“We neglected him, Thomas.. For-for _weeks_ , we didn't try to help him- and now- _now-_ ”

Thomas could feel warmth on his shirt, the tears Patton had earlier teased now streaming their way into his tshirt as they escaped Patton’s eyes.

It was hard to take in.

He wanted to stand up, to just shake Patton and ask him to tell him the issue. He wanted to cut him off, ask him what the _hell_ he was talking about; clearly something was happening he wasn't aware of.

All of those desires, all the questions, everything he wanted to do but couldn't?

It made him anxious.

Anxiety.

Virgil.

What was Patton saying about Virgil?

“We found him- we found him locked in his room, everything ruined and scary. Something seriously bad happened in there-”

Patton was talking again, speaking in circles around his point; Patton wasn't sure if he was going to be able to get it all out.

“We might be too late now. What-what if we _caused_ this, Thomas? What if he just fades,or dies, and we lose him because we were _stupid?_ ”

And, yeah, he was full-on crying now; clutching to Thomas’ shoulder as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded to earth.

“Not that telling you matters much.. You’re going to see for yourself in a minute, anyway. You get to experience the effect of our mistake any second now.”

Thomas was in the process of opening his mouth to protest with another question, but promptly shut it when he saw what Patton was trying to say.

Before him, his other sides appeared, both dawning the same grief-stricken and worried expression. 

Neither of the men looked as sharp as they normally did. Both Roman and Logan bore messy hair and pale faces, both staring at Thomas with wide eyes, as if they did not expect to see him in the living room.

Logan had boxes and bottles of medical equipment in his arms, a heavy looking biology book rammed between the supplies. 

Thomas was only momentarily confused by the objects Logic had brought with him, realizing seconds later it was meant to accompany the black bundle in Roman’s arms.

In silence, Thomas stood, allowing Patton to ease off of him and sink into the sofa. He stepped towards Roman, who was currently stuck in place, and glanced into his embrace.

His hand flew over his mouth as he inhaled sharply, staring bug-eyed into the face of his youngest side.

He could now understand what Patton was trying to say, why Roman and Logan were so shaggy and out of character when they rose up, and why he had been feeling so awful.

Because bundled in the arms of the prince, was Virgil; sickly pale and covered in his own offal with blood dried onto his cracked face.

Heart stuttering in his chest, Thomas stepped back away, no longer able to form coherent thoughts.

After all, his mind was broken before him, 

all torn apart by the exact same ordeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for putting up with this unending angst! You mean so much to me.
> 
> In all honesty, thank you so much to everyone who have consistently posted comments or read through this- for those of you who are regular, it makes my day to see your usernames. I don't address it enough, but thank you so so SO much for your continued support. You know who you are <3
> 
> Thank you, lovelies.
> 
> Love you all to the moon and back, Lo.


	14. Optimism and the hard true facts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi ho I've been gone a while ! 
> 
> To make up for it have some uhhhhh angst

Patton had to be the one to whisk Thomas away from the main room after a few minutes of stunned silence.

Thomas was beginning to babble, half-composed protests and demanding questions spilling from his lips. 

He was vulnerable.

He didn't even know that sides could become hurt.

He didn't know that he wouldn't feel it. Or, maybe Thomas _did_ feel it and couldn't recognize it. Maybe Thomas didn't question the strange state he was in and it caused this.

It was as if he was feeling emotions that didn't even exist, or didn't belong together in the slightest.

His gut twisted painfully as he watched Roman set Virgil down on the couch from the hall, his fist held up to his mouth as to prevent himself from rambling on in his confused state.

His eyes were glued to his youngest side, the sullen features of Virgil’s face broken to a point almost unrecognizable. Even from the distance across the floor of his apartment, Thomas could see the shake in Virgil’s barely present breathing; strands of hair dancing from the exhales escaping his blue lips.

Surely, sides couldn't just _die_ ; there had to be _something_ that would ever prevent that. Maybe they were all just overreacting, too worried to remain calm, and Virgil needed a bit of healing time is all.

Thomas’ thoughts to himself were rapid, all trying to find optimism in the dramatic ordeal. He thought, maybe all of this was just a frantic act; the sides depended on each other, after all, they were a family. The others must be scared so _that’s_ why they were all pacing around anxiously, working their way into a plan of action.

That would make sense, right?

Roman was _always_ overdramatic about pressing situations, quick to play a hero role whenever someone had needed help. This was probably just that; Roman blowing something out of proportion because his subconscious drove him to ‘rescue' Anxiety. Even with the history Roman and Virgil shared, they were still a family; he must have felt it was his civic duty to assist.

It made sense, no?

Patton would obviously feel waves upon waves of heavy emotion during these times, too; he literally _was_ the driving force of emotion between the four. Being both the heart and father figure of the group, his roles would only amplify his stress. If _anybody_ got hurt Patton would surely treat it like he was now, and Virgil was close to Patt more than he was to the others, if even fractionally.

It just. Made. Sense.

But with Logan?

Logan made that hope disappear.

As much as he may protest to it, Logan _wasn't_ actually robotic as he pretended.

Emotions came through him quite frequently, even if it often manifested itself subtly in the logical facet. Annoyance, anger, humour, surprise, concern.. Logan felt _everything._

Everything but one emotion, Thomas noted.

Logan approached any and all situations with a clear mind; ready to tackle issues with only the most beneficial of intentions.

That was his nature, after all.

Logan’s actions were calculated because _he_ was calculated. Impulsive behaviour was not catalogued within the man because it wasn't in his design.

Logan was logic, and all things reason.

He had no reason to ever feel unnecessary panic; not when he could easily overcome any problem he faced. The only time he had ever actually faced emotional dilemma was during his breakdown in Virgil’s room months ago; something beyond his control no matter how hard he could try.

Thomas’ heart dropped as he watched the two sides, Roman and Logan, assess Virgil critically. Past his thick lenses, Logan’s eyes were wild; ignited by the fire of fear.

It was something Thomas had never witnessed from Logan before.

One look at usually collected side was enough to shatter his optimism.

His fears crawling on his back, Thomas wanted desperately to look away, to turn and just _pray_ it would be better when he turned back around. Thomas’ eyes, however, remained glued to the sides shuffling about, murmuring between themselves occasionally.

Roman repeatedly glanced over his shoulder towards the frozen man; his lips were pursed as he stared with apprehension at his host.

“Thomas-”

The first word spoken since they appeared.

“Are- are you certain you don't want to just leave this to us?”

After a few minutes of nothing, Roman removed one hand from Virgil’s spine, where he was adding pressure for Logan to proceed with his small surgery, and coughed into it for effect.

“Thomas.”

The named man’s head bobbed upwards at the sound of his voice, eyes widened and hollow-looking.

Logan hissed something at Roman, causing the younger side to bring his hand back onto Virgil. Looking at nothing in particular, Roman sighed breathily; his words tumbling off his breath carelessly.

“Maybe it would be best for you to relocate yourself, coop up with Patt maybe, until we can get this issue fixed… This is pretty- well, far too much for you, probably. No?”

Logan huffed softly, eyes focused on his work.

“Agreed.”

Thomas scoffed, spacing his feet.

“I’m not _leaving_ you. I can- I can help you do what you need, Logan.”

“Thomas, honestly- your absence from this situation may allow you to collect yourself, to stay calm while we figure out what is going on here.”

“Logan, I don't want to just _leave,_ okay? I want to know what happened; I can _help him.”_

Logan stopped his hands, glancing over his shoulder at Thomas with a glassy stare. He took a slow breath, setting down the knife he’d just dislodged from under Virgil’s shoulder blade on the coffee table. Logan remained silent for a while, scripting his next monologue internally.

“What I feel is the appropriate plan of action,”

Logan began, turning back away from Thomas so that he may tend back to the dark boy.

“I propose that you should either leave the vicinity, or come to help yourself; both of these options allows you to become more or less aware of what our current issue is. If you leave, you will not be subjected to whatever stress or problems may arise here, and will be protected that way. If you stay, you have the ability to know when things are in control, have the opportunity to lend a hand if anything _does_ happen.” 

Thomas shook his head instinctively, face scrunching into a grimace.

“What? No, of course I’m going to stay, there is no way I’d even _think_ about going anywhere after I see this mess. I don't care how it's going to make _me_ feel.”

“But I _do,_ Thomas. I’m not sure how true it may be, but if your distress and levels of worry increases, so will your anxiety.”

Logan nodded down towards the younger side, his fingers pressed around the open wound he was treating on the pale man’s back. 

“I don't know what it will do to Virgil..”

Logan looked away from Thomas, his shoulders curved ever so slightly. His tone had dropped off as he spoke, fluctuating between becoming distant and growing worryingly calm.

A façade.

One look at Logan’s avoidant body position and his slouch could tell Thomas everything he needed to know.

Thomas _knew_ Logan was acting cold; he was forcing himself to be rational and slow so that he could properly do what he needed.

Because Logan was _afraid._

Everyone else could see the way Logan ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, brushing his long bangs out from his heavily masked eyes. Every touch was uncharacteristically gentle and hesitant, thoughts kept contained as Logan brushed against Virgil’s cheek with his fingers.

Every touch served as confirmation that there was still warmth, still life to preserve.

And, yeah, Logan _was_ afraid.

He was terrified.

He was afraid that they came to Virgil too late, that despite his best efforts Virgil may fade.

He was afraid that the shadows had injured Virgil so badly, that he may be too anxious to continue his recent self-improvement when he woke up.

He was afraid that Virgil would change on him.

Afraid Virgil might not have the chance to.

But most of all, Logan was afraid of the situation they were currently in. It was up to him to solve for everything; how, what, when, where, _why_ did this happen to their youngest, to _them._

But Logan didn't have any of these answers.

Everything was up to him, 

But he had no idea what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for reading, my lovelies!
> 
> If you have any ideas/theories/headcannons about what's going to happen next, leave em in the comments! I love hearing what you all have to say.
> 
> Love u, Lo.


	15. Unhappy truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I keep disappearing, guys. I've felt super unmotivated recently and just didn't want to write. I've not been super satisfied with these past few chapters, but this story needs a conclusion.
> 
> Enjoy~

As it turns out, the knife that was previously lodged within Virgil’s back was one of the most innocent of wounds.

The butter knife, which was now sitting on the corner of the coffee table, crimson gleaming off the blade in long smears, lay almost tauntingly beside them.

It was sickening.

It was a slow process, undressing Virgil’s layers off, peeling them back so that the offal dried to the fabric wouldn't rip open his flesh wounds.

They had to be careful; slowly subjecting themselves to the battered man’s bare chest.

Roman and Logan were slow and methodical, rolling fabric and pulling upwards, one of each of their hands sliding against the pale boy’s skin apprehensively to free it of the cloth.

Both pairs of eyes were set on his skin, watching as Virgil’s nearly translucent body was slowly revealed, dark blue and black veins threading themselves under his skin like a corpse.

He looked so far gone.

Once both his hoodie and shirt was removed, with only a few hiccups, Logan wordlessly grabbed for the medicine box.

Virgil most likely had bruises and scratches on his legs, too; the lack of blood on his jeans was enough to convince the others it wouldn't be urgent, though.

His shoulders, sides, and chest were all so violent and loud; the contrast of warm colour leaping off the monochromatic boy’s white skin was enough to make a few of them need to turn away.

So loud.

Sosososo angry.

It was so. Much. Blood.

Long gashes tore through Virgil’s front, skin shredded and hanging by its ends loosely. Multiple ragged layers of ripped flesh poked out in jagged stripes against the open wounds; harsh burns scathing the surviving organ around them.

Black-red blood dried onto Virgil’s skin is what Logan worked on first, hands trembling just barely as he dabbed the wounds with rubbing alcohol. His face was hard set, intentionally emotionless as he began to work at the worst of the injuries. Gray’s anatomy was positioned in Logan’s lap, the pages neglected as the logical facet worked; he didn't need it, he knew what he needed to do.

Logan shifted his positioning, allowing himself to take up a larger portion of space over the couch; Roman now moved away, eyes avoiding the anxious side. The fanciful side was stood, back turned to the couch in a partially disgusted manor, one arm draped tight around Patton, who was frozen in place at the sight.

All three sides reacted in ways unique to them, causing the already chaotic dynamic to feel even more unbalanced; a hodgepodge of emotions swimming around the room haphazardly. 

It caused the looming sense of unease within Thomas to worsen.

Thomas truly didn't know how to feel.

A ball of terror, confusion, unease and worry wadded itself in Thomas’ gut, the feelings not sitting right no matter how he looked at the situation.

Getting a grip on his emotions was a lost cause; Thomas needed to think of a course of action for himself and the other sides.

He had to understand.

Thomas waited a length of time before he spoke, ensuring Logan was finished patching one of the worst wounds.

“Logan?”

A distracted hum emitted from Logan, back turned from Thomas as he gently rolled his younger counterpart onto his side.

“Logan.”

His voice harder this time, Thomas took a hesitant step forward to the couch, inspecting both men before him; Thomas’ first time getting a proper look at Anxiety.

Logan looked up through his eyelashes, acknowledging Thomas subtly.

“Thomas, now isn't the time to waste precious minutes with banter.”

Precious time, minutes left for what?

Logan didn't know, he simply couldn't handle Thomas’ probing mind right now, his own mind right now.

“I- Logan, you have to help me out here-”

“I _am_ helping, Thomas. I’m here with Virgil, am I not?”

Logan’s voice was raised an octave, strained with overwhelm. Tearing into a new package of cloth bandages with his teeth, Logan turned his attention back away from Thomas.

Thomas sighed hard in response, letting his head hang; he wasn't willing to fight Logan on this. 

Silence passed for another few minutes, the soft ticking of the clock filling the bubble of silence among all four men; the repetitive sound drilling into their minds.

Thomas shuffled, leaning in to cup Virgil’s cheek gently; moving so that Logan wouldn't fuss. His face was still caked in his own blood, masking the discolouration of welting bruises on the pallid man’s face. His lips were parted slightly, an array of worrying colours dancing their way into their cracks; dark scabs of blood running down the length of his sharp features.

Thomas’ breath hitched at the display, gently shifting Virgil’s head forward. In his other hand, Thomas grabbed for the towel Logan had used for the wounds on his torso, taking a corner to dab away at the delicate tears.

Beside him, Logan tensed, stealing a glance to the side to ensure Thomas wasn't going to hurt the younger man. His mouth opened to speak, to retort against Thomas’ attempt to assist him, but he forced himself to ignore it.

Cleaning away the gore, Thomas slid his fingertips over Virgil’s cheek, running a digit over an oddly shaped welt.

It looked intentional.

It looked familiar.

Human.

“I know what you're thinking, you know.”

Logan finally spoke up, his voice low. All three heads turned to watch him speak, each eyes portraying different responses.

Curiosity.

Regret.

Sorrow.

Logan bit his lip, leaning in to better his vision on his handiwork; his hands were shaking hard despite his nonchalant expression.

“We call them shadows, because we aren't exactly certain _what_ they are.”

He stopped working at stitching Virgil’s gut, eyes glued to his thin frame.

“Virgil’s got to him.”

Patton sniffed.

Thomas was frozen in place, mentally buffering as he stuttered to form coherent thoughts.

“Virge- Virgil’s shadows?”

Logan nodded grimly.

“I’m not sure how long this has been going on, but it must have been a long time. I’ve never seen them do such incredible physical damage before, I didn't even know they were capable of harm.”

Roman cleared his throat, eyes glazed over with shame as he approached the other men.

“I’ve encountered them a few times myself, but never have they hurt to the touch, nor hurt my soul. It was my presumption that it was a harmless quirk, an attribute of intimidation.”

“Well, we know now that that is not the case, Roman.”

Logan continued.

“These spectres have clearly shared quite a few harmful encounters with Virgil; they treat him far differently.”

Thomas found his words amidst his confusion.

“Hold on, hold on- shadows? You guys have sentient shadows?”

The creative and logical facets went quiet, debating internally among themselves what to reveal to their host.

Sitting on the rest of the armchair, Patton fidgeted with his cardigan sleeves, voice cracking as he spoke for the first time.

“No, kiddo… Not us, only Virgil has them. Virgil and-”

His hand over his mouth cut him off, muffling the sniffles escaping him as he attempted to retell the events.

Thomas turned his gaze slowly from his parental side to his logical one, cold fire burning within his gut as he watched his sides sink further and further out of character.

Logan spoke again, fixated on the youngest man’s figure.

“Shadows are an extension of the dark sides, Thomas. Whether they like it or not, dark sides will forever have them; it's their eternal responsibility. However, Virgil has neglected his role; which has most likely caused them to act out against him. This is evident by the clear battery of his person..Of course, that's all speculation-”

“Dark sides? What, what does Virgil have to do with _those_ sides?”

Thomas chimed, unconnected dots displaying themselves on his expression.

“Dark sides are- they're that, Logan. They're bastards who clearly want me to fail to be the person I want to be, the person you four help me become-”

“You.. You don't know, do you?”

Roman spoke up, piquing the interest of his host. When Thomas failed to answer, Roman continued, side-eyeing at Logan with every other word.

“Thomas, Virgil _is_ one of your dark sides; he was never like one of us to begin with.Virgil isn't one of us; and he never will be.

You, Thomas, already have been taken over by a dark side.

And now, we need to save that part of you right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come, let me know what you think. If you have any ideas/comments, please tell me! It would really help right now to gain some motivation while I'm in this bad place rn.
> 
> Love you all, Lo.


	16. Sink to the bottom of the oceans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, boys. 
> 
> I brought angst.

Falling always was easy for Virgil.

Everything blew right by him so fast, all his troubles seemed meaningless, his dissociation from his problems made him stronger.

It was always so peaceful, yet so exhilarating; his gut lurching uncomfortably as he plummeted like a rocket towards earth.

The concoction of fear and freedom; it was unlike any other.

But all falls end with meeting the ground.

Virgil’s body, which was weightless mere milliseconds ago, met with solid in an instant.

Now he was plummeting again, this time no longer from the air of his subconscious, but downwards into water.

Colour filled his view, white and red bubbling to the surface of the crimson-black liquid he was sinking in; Virgil didn't even know he was seeing colour before the water engulfed him.

No, it was thicker than water, heavier and more discoloured.

_Surely not._

He was sinking down deeper, arms failing upwards towards the now-disappearing surface. The thickness of the liquid around him forced his movements to remain groggy, his desperate kicking fruitless.

With his burning eyes opened wide, he opened his mouth to match, a scream of fear and frustration muffled by the surrounding atmosphere.

Virgil watched the bubbles that escaped him scurry upwards to the non-existent surface, their colour loud against the black that swallowed Virgil.

The liquid was bitter and metallic against his tongue, causing him to try and spit the solution forming within his mouth. He tried to cough, but the thickness embracing him just filled his lungs.

He was drowning.

Drowning in what could only be his own blood.

There were hands around him, he realized, that were dragging him further and further into the depths. Latched to his legs, boney black arms pulled at his jeans, claws crawling up to grip at his sweater and throat too.

Inky skin was burning into his own, cloth practically burning away to rags from underneath their hold.

Killed.

Sabotaged.

And yet, deserving.

Noise around Virgil pulsated, liquid clogging his ears, causing them to boom with every one of his movements.

The blood water seemed to thicken. 

Booming became louder, became closer, more threatening with every second; Virgil felt utterly surrounded, and yet so open and vulnerable.

Unable to breathe, unable to move, and unable to think, Virgil curled up, allowing himself to get dragged down into the abyss.

Eyes filled with tears that could not fall, Virgil let falling become easy again.

He let go.

He let them take him down.

Further and further he was pulled, more and more pressure developing in the bloodwater around him.

Everything was pushed around him harder, his body slowly forcing itself to compress to avoid the building weight.

With every second, there was so much more.

Until eventually he felt nothing.

The liquid stopped pounding in his ears, his skin no longer crawling under the touch of boney hands around his body; when he looked down, there was no longer anything holding him.

His chest tight, Virgil let his mouth open in wonder, gawking above him at a now visible surface, white light reflecting off a surface from seemingly miles away.

Small bubbles rushed out from his parted lips, the last of his breath disappearing to the water’s surface.

But he was no longer choking.

The drowning sensation was gone along with everything else; even with no oxygen in his lungs, Virgil wasn't struggling to breathe.

Virgil no longer had to.

Virgil was suspended within the black bloodwater, nothing left to oppress him as he floated aimlessly with his eyes glued to the surface.

With everything around him stagnant, Virgil felt even more uncomfortable; something wasn't right.

Around him, the bloodwater thickened.

Above him, something boomed.

The liquid rippled.

_**You’ve hurt them, you know.** _

_**Sound travelled around the water, distorted by the thickness of the liquids engulfing Virgil.** _

_**You’ve hurt them again, Anxiety.** _

_**This time, you've really done it.** _

_**Just look at you, Anxiety. You're small and pathetic; young not in age, but experience.** _

Voices came back to him.

He should have known they would follow him even in his unconscious state.

Now it was worse.

Their tones were heavy now, speaking to him not aloud but in his head; he couldn't block out their noise now.

They had taken over his mind.

Virgil wanted to scream at them, to thrash and throw the tantrum he had been holding within himself. A good smack to their non-corporeal beings and a loud ‘fuck off!’, it's all he wanted to do.

But trapped down here, forced to be still in his own metaphorical wounds and offal, Virgil was rendered useless.

_**They found you, Anxiety.** _

_**They found you hiding away like the coward you are.** _

_**What have you to say for yourself, Anxiety?** _

_**Everything you've done to protect them, it's only hurt them; you were too much of a coward to face them.** _

_**A coward.** _

_**An idiot.** _

They continued, repeating the same insults they had thrown at Virgil for over a month now while he was exiled.

He really should have been used to this bullshit, by now.

But now things had changed.

_**I always knew you were going to cause harm to us, Anxiety. You call it all for our own good, but what good have you done? You're selfish, driven by your old agenda. You always have been.** _

_**You’ve ruined us.** _

Roman’s loud voice rang in his ears, s’ ending with hisses, and tone sharp.

Virgil’s heart ached.

_**I was always able to see it, Anxiety. You're not complex, you're not like us. You can't possibly change your core beliefs and exchange them just so you may fit in. Your loneliness, your craving for love, all of it was the only reason you joined us. You're fake, so disgustingly fake.** _

_**Why don't you just fuck off and die, already, disease?** _

This time it was Logan, his monotone voice effortlessly throwing out a slew of words that cut Virgil deep.

The ache turned to fire.

_**I never should have trusted you. I never should have taken you in and expect you to be understanding. You could never understand, Anxiety. You're just an animal, a machine that can only follow its design. You pray upon us, take advantage of our acceptance, of my kindness; you expect to be treated with respect after all you have done to tear me down?** _

_**You're no child of mine.** _

_**I hope this kills you, so I never have to see your pitiful face again.** _

And finally, Patton.

The voice that wavered the most, crumbling under the damage it had been dealt; the damage _Virgil_ had done to him.

It was the one that hurt the most.

Virgil’s once aching heart had burst, each string snapping painfully in his chest as he was forced to listen to his family belittle him.

They grew louder in his ears, Roman’s loud voice demanding answers to questions Virgil didn't hear, Logan’s low drawl making Virgil’s skin cold, and Patton’s cracking tone melodizing it all.

The overwhelm that washed over Virgil rocked him, the liquid around him becoming slowly solid as it thickened, the booming getting louder, it made Virgil go mad.

His loving family, now resentful and torn by his actions, was threatening him. Wishes of his death became their prime objective.

Every word had him sink deeper, the black swallowing him slowly as the surface vanished once more.

Until their voices stopped, and the whisper returned.

_**You’re a mistake, Anxiety.** _

_**You’ve done so much wrong, you can never face the music.** _

_**You're a coward.** _

_**Do as they ask, stay here and die, Anxiety.** _

_**Die and free them of your burden.** _

_**No longer will they pity you if you just accept this, and kill yourself here and now.** _

_**Come now, Anxiety; your death is all we look forward to down here.** _

No.

Not like this.

Virgil did this because he cared.

Virgil loved them all so much.

He was so so sorry.

He had to tell them that.

With that last thought in mind, Virgil opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have permission to collectively kick my ass if this isn't updated in two days.
> 
> If you have any comments/ideas for what's next, please put them down! You guys help me through writers block more than anything else.
> 
> Sorry for everything, Lo.


	17. Where have I been? I've been here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I'd update on time.
> 
> I was considering naming this chapter 'Piano Jam' but just decided to use lyrics from that song instead, as it didn't fit well even though the content does.
> 
> So here you go, bring the angst.

Floodlights.

Bright whites blinding Virgil as he forced his eyes open. 

Colours danced past his view as he blinked into the heavy air, each blink more painful than the last.

His eyes dry and burning, they ached as they carried the weight of sleep deprivation.

His ears were ringing as the colors swirling in front of his vision faded, causing his head to croak with each tiny movement.

Virgil’s body felt like cement, each time he tried to move a new ache would awaken within him. Blood pounding in his ears, Virgil could feel his pulse through every one of his nerves.

Virgil winced as pain slowly introduced itself to his numbed body, dull aches to full stabs overcoming him.

Virgil tensed, pulling his lips downwards in discomfort as he tried to groan away the pain.

His lip pulled, a twang of sharpness replacing the aches in his body.

A whimper escaped him, Virgil parting his lips delicately to run his tongue over the source of the pain; a butterfly style bandaid holding his split lip together desperately.

A choked noise emitted from him, a mixture of sudden agony and confusion taking over his whirring mind. Every time he tried to whine out for something, for _someone_ , his speech failed him; vocal cords raw in his throat.

Eyes still too blurry to be trusted, the young side lifted one hand slowly; the limb shaking as it rose, as if the limb were entirely unfamiliar. Carefully, Virgil placed his hand on himself, letting feeling return to his blue fingertips. When his sense of touch _did_ finally come to him, Virgil slowly curled his fingertips into the mystery fabric draped over him, soft silk meeting with fleece.

He’d been tucked in, a blanket hugging his body as he lay wherever he was.

For a moment, Virgil forgot his situation, smiling just subtly.

He felt warmth in his face, his ghostly pale cheeks most likely livened with the flush of affection.

Squeezing the blanket in his fist as hard as he could, which was barely any strength at all, Virgil pulled it higher to his body.

White hot pain flashed behind his eyes.

Virgil hissed lowly, head tilting back suddenly in response to the sudden tightness he felt. He released his grasp on the blanket, moving his hand to the source of the slicing pain in his chest. 

Virgil’s fingers met with gentle cotton, fabric that definitely didn't belong to his hoodie.

Cracking an eye open, Virgil stared down, forcing himself to focus until sight returned to him.

The darkness of the living room made that rather difficult, however.

Shapes and shadows danced on the walls around him, causing his heart to sink.

He was still in his room, wasn't he?

Those things were still here.

The soft purr of a car sounded from outside, the orange light from the headlights pouring into the living room from the half-closed shutters. The light dissolved the shadows and shapes, replacing it with the true objects from Thomas’ living room.

Virgil’s gut did something funny

He should have felt relief, gratitude.

He wasn't stuck in the nightmare that was his own room, not forced to succumb to his dark companions.

He was here in reality, _safe! Found! Protected!_

But everything had been building up to this; in Virgil’s nightmares, in his constantly-running mind.

Because there were other shapes in the room, too.

Virgil turned his head slowly, grimacing with every movement, to turn and face towards the open side of the couch. His right hand still poised on his chest, Virgil shifted his fingers on the left.

There was restraint.

Virgil took a sharp breath in, focusing on the hold tight around his hand, holding him in place. Peeking down, moving just barely as to not hurt himself, Virgil traced the outline of a hand holding his.

_Oh._

Virgil followed the hand down to the floor beside the couch, giving the mystery arm a face. 

There, laying in an uncomfortably curled position next to the seat, lay Patton, his face pressed into the floor with his other arm supporting under his head.

Patton was next to him.

Patton was there.

He was holding his hand.

Sleeping in the world’s most inconvenient position just so that he could stay close to Virgil.

The dark boy’s heart churned; Virgil was unsure if it was a happy or upset reaction.

Even in his sleep, Patton was moving constantly, his fingers and thumb twitching and rubbing gently against the top of Virgil’s hand in a loving gesture.

Despite having little to no feeling in the aforementioned hand, Virgil was moved.

Tears teased the corners of his eyes, the first time in over a month he’d cried not in pain.

A short snort stopped Virgil short of letting them fall.

The sound caused Virgil to snap his head towards the armchair across the couch, which resulted in his head to pound.

With wide, shaken eyes, Virgil stared into the face of a resting prince, sitting upright with his head propped up by his hand.

Roman’s mouth was agape, another soft snore managing to emerge from between his lips, causing his broad chest to fill.

Virgil gazed at his chest in disbelief, the prince's normally beautifully clean and pressed tunic currently wrinkled and stained with blood; it were as if he never even thought to leave and change attire.

As if Roman stayed, just to watch over Anxiety.

Roman stayed despite his assumed discomfort, just to stay with him.

Virgil blinked hard and fast, trying to keep his eyes dried.

_They wouldn't-_

Everything the shadows had told him, what he told himself, it wasn't this.

Disbelief was overcome by hope when Virgil noticed yet another set of limbs thrown over the couch by his feet.

The person he last expected to see watch over him.

Logan.

His arms curled under his head rested on the couch, he was slouched against the furniture from where he was seated on the floor. His glasses were pushed up to his forehead, pushing his normally calmed bangs up.

He was shaggy, unkempt.

All three were.

And yet, despite all of the discomfort, all three had stayed.

They were here.

They were with him.

The shadows, Virgil’s racing thoughts, they were all wrong.

He had them.

Another vehicle passed by Thomas’ apartment, lighting up the room once more.

Something caught his eye.

Tearing his eyes away from his small family, Virgil glanced towards the stairs where he had just seen a reflection mere seconds ago.

A glint of deep yellow, twinkling there in the shadows just beyond the living room.

A yellow eye focused directly on him.

The warmth and love was gone now; now everything was cold and still.

Virgil just gawked, petrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone!
> 
> I have two questions for you, however.
> 
> 1) does anybody still care about this story? I've been feeling extremely discouraged recently and even though this story is almost over, I feel like nobody cares or would like me to finish (probably because I took too long and everyone lost interest)
> 
> 2) would you guys want me to give out my tumblr name?
> 
> Hopefully you guys can answer this for me, your comments push me more than anything to write. Thank you so much to those still here, you mean the world to me.
> 
> Xoxoxox, Lo


	18. When you leave, it's a heart attack letting go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I begin this, I want to address something important.
> 
> I know usually I write my long author's notes after the chapter, but I cannot wait that long.
> 
> Last week, I updated explaining my lack of motivation, my sadness eating me up alive from the inside out. I couldn't write and I felt like nobody cared. Something that once brought me so much joy (writing) had become a horrible burden to me. It hurt so badly when I finally managed to update, and yet I felt nothing mattered.
> 
> You all have been so supportive, and the overwhelming amount of comments I received from you all was astonishing. Never have I ever felt so incredibly blessed than all this past week, reading all of what you had to say.
> 
> Knowing how much people actually give a shit about me, it was eye opening. My story has brought so many people to be moved, and I couldn't be any more thankful.
> 
> Everything has been turned around because of you all, and I am so so SO thankful.
> 
> You're all such excellent, kind people. Thank you all for being supportive and genuine; without you, I feel like my sadness would increase tremendously, eventually my depression preventing me from being able to create literature like I love to do.
> 
> I love each and every one of you so much.
> 
> From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
> 
> You have no idea how much you all mean to me.
> 
>  
> 
> Let's get on with the story, my lovelies.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to you all.
> 
> I wrote this one with your comments in mind.

Deceit sat stoically, his left leg crossed over his right and back kept straight. His black cloak hiding him from Virgil’s radar.

The way he was poised, there was a issue with the older man. His head was tilted forward, eyes fixed and unmoving, unblinking as he examined the beaten side silently.

Virgil attempted to shift, to sit up on his elbows to better view Deceit; the pain tearing through him without mercy had stopped him, however.

The shadowed side sighed from the stairs, disdain clearly drawn on his dysmorphic face. Slowly, the ill-intented facet stood, his hands clasping themselves together critically as he peered around the room with disapproval, the yellow gloves jumping loud against the swallowing darkness encasing both dark sides together.

A painful lump formed in the throat of Virgil, a chill running through his chest. Childishly, Virgil cowered, chin dipping downwards into the blanket.

_Not again._

_Please._

_Not again._

The floorboards creaked underneath Deceit’s careful steps, effortlessly waltzing past the mess of Thomas’ living room. The soft clacks of his dress shoes growing consistently close to Virgil.

Yet, Deceit was still silent.

A heavy feeling crept its way into the room, the air sweltering with unease with every pace forward Deceit took. There was an aura of dominance that followed him, one that became increasingly more terrifying with his continued silence.

The clacking stopped.

Virgil could feel the discomfort close to him, the tightness in his body further winding up as the tall man hovered menacingly above him.

With lips pursed, Virgil kept his eyes closed; he was unwilling to face the man before him.

“Look at me.”

Virgil froze, his already weak breathing becoming laboured as it caught in his throat. 

The anxious boy flinched, tightening himself as he prepared for a blow due to his disobedience.

But nothing came.

Deceit was quieter this time, pity bleeding into his alluring voice.

“Anxiety, look at me.”

Uncharacteristically gentle, frighteningly calm.

Then he felt it.

Fingers against his cut cheek, cold skin pressed to his burning flesh.

Virgil immediately gazed up, eyes wide and horrified.

Deceit looked back, a very soft, and too-friendly frown plastered in his scaled face. His fingers slid comfortingly against the cheek of Virgil, his bare hand delicate and deliberate as it traced Virgil’s wounds.

The smaller man was paralyzed, lip quivering as words failed to escape him. Virgil’s eyes were so wide he felt they might just fall out, darting between Deceit’s face and Deceit’s hand.

The ungloved hand stopped moving, the chillingly agile fingers of the older man resting over Virgil’s unresting lower lip.

The long claw on Deceit’s thumb rested against the gash in Virgil’s lip, causing him to emit a tiny whimper. It didn't hurt, it simply reminded him of the turmoil the sickeningly charming man before him put him through.

The whine caused Deceit to pull back, retracting his hand back to his body.

_Good._

“Oh, Anxiety…”

Deceit cooed gently, a sinking weight settling beside Virgil as the older man sat beside his body on the couch.

“You really got yourself in trouble now, haven't you?”

Deceit looked down, his eyes settling on Patton, the man laying at his feet. His arm bent up awkwardly, the paternal side still held into Virgil’s hand lovingly.

Deceit scowled.

Disgust.

That was _his_ property.

Deceit tore his eyes away from the contact Patton had with Virgil, allowing himself to recollect his thoughts.

“I thought, Anxiety, that our whole… _discussion_ that little while ago, was to prevent this.”

Slipping his glove back on, Deceit side-eyed the selectively mute side, eyebrow cocked slightly in disapproval.

Virgil simply sunk further into the sofa, unable to retract his eyes from their contact with Deceit’s.

“Dearest Anxiety, I thought my lesson with you went swimmingly. I gave you food for thought, I fed you the truth, a rare occurrence for my person. I supplied you with what you needed to know, and yet you still did this.”

The taller man chuckled emotionlessly, eyelids falling slightly into a glare.

“I would be lying if I said I wasn't upset.”

Virgil opened his mouth, croaking halfheartedly in his attempt to respond.

Deceit simply shook his head, placing a finger back over Virgil’s lips.

Deceit’s forked tongue darted out momentarily, licking his own lips in thought.

“You’ve been selfish, Anxiety. I know that you know that. I told you what your neglect to your duties has done to us.. You've been hurting us.”

The deceiving facet rested his hand over Virgil’s spare one, squeezing gently. 

“You're cruel, Anxiety.”

Virgil’s face heated up, a concoction of displeasement and fear shaking him up internally.

“How-How dare you?”

Virgil’s voice was forced, hoarse as he struggled to respond.

The words seemed to entertain the other dark side, his eyes lighting up slightly.

“So, he speaks… Then explain yourself, why do you want us to _suffer,_ Anxiety? We are your _family_ , your kind; and yet you hate us.”

Virgil grimaced, closing his eyes and turning his head just barely away from the other man.

Deceit’s hold softened, his breath warm on Virgil’s skin when he leaned in to whisper to the damaged boy.

“Oh, I _know_ why, Anxiety.”

Virgil flinched, opening his eyes just slightly in discomfort, breathing becoming difficult again.

Deceit smiled sadistically, his free hand motioning towards the living room in a grand gesture.

“It's because of them.”

Virgil stiffened, staring with wide eyes up at his manipulator.

“Well, Anxiety, I have news for you:-”

The vile man stopped short, leaning in again as he caressed Virgil’s cheek teasingly.

“They don't love you.. The only reason you're here with them in this room is because you forced them to be here.. They pity you because you've put them here, they are under _your_ thumb. You're a vile, manipulative man, making them take care of you because you are weak and hateful.”

A shuddering breath left Virgil, eyes squeezing shut once again. He felt his body tense, curling his fists.

There was resistance. 

Patton’s hand.

Still holding his.

Fingers still circling into the younger boy’s skin comfortingly.

It changed _everything._

“Anxiety, this is exactly what I warned you about. You just never listen, you never learn.”

“N-no.”

His words came out in a gravelly exhale, causing the corners of Deceit’s lips to twitch upwards.

He was about to send them crashing back down.

“Y-you're the one who has never loved me.”

Deceit’s eyes flared, his face becoming unreadable from the shock of the weak side’s words.

Deceit scoffed, flabbergasted.

“I- _I_ never loved you? You say that after all I’ve done? Even after all the times I dried your eyes, I _licked your wounds_? The times held you tight and let you cry because of the hurt _they_ caused you?”

Virgil felt something wash over him.

Courage.

Resent.

Motivation to fight.

“I-It forced me to grow.. I learned _everything_ from them; they made me who I am. Not you, not my weaknesses, not my self hate.”

Despite the fact each word was more painful than the last, and he was practically gagging on his words, Virgil spoke up, internal fire fuelling him.

Despite the fact he was essentially _choking_ as he tried to speak and breathe at the same time, Virgil continued.

“I made mistakes- and- and now I’m strong. I-I learned so _much-_ I learned to feel, to understand what family means.”

Physically, Virgil was broken. He was weak and timid, easy to snap if someone wasn't careful enough when they touched him.

But mentally, Virgil was strong enough to win wars.

Deceit scowled, eyes narrowing as he leaned in, hissing into Virgil’s face.

“You're delusional. You're unable to comprehend reality because they have you under a fucking _spell_ , Anxiety. They only want to _use you.”_

Virgil coughed, wincing hard as his body racked with the violent spasms within his chest. His throat was on fire, his eyes watering painfully.

Yet he continued.

“You-you always _have_ had it backwards, you know..”

Deceit stood fast, furiously clenching his fists towards Virgil’s already destroyed figure. 

He couldn't lash out, though.

No matter _what_ Deceit did now, it was evident that nothing would ever change again.

Everything he had worked _so. Hard_ to accomplish, it all came crashing down around him.

Eyes ablaze, Deceit wordlessly turned away from the younger boy. Grasping his cape in one hand, Deceit pulled it over himself dramatically, his fugure disappearing fully into the rustle of fabric.

One final glance at his past-friend, and then he was gone.

Virgil was left now in the dark room, silent as the clock ticked across the hall. 

Everything hurt so fucking badly.

But it was so fucking worth it.

Letting his eyes collapse shut, Virgil smiled to himself as he lost consciousness again, drifting off into buttersweet slumber.

Anxiety was gone.

Forever now, Virgil was here to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one again, my loves, thank you for everything you've done and said recently. Your kindness has prevented me from facing something awful, and I mean that in all seriousness.
> 
> You're all so so lovely, I adore you all.
> 
> Last time, I said I would give out my tumblr: here it is.
> 
> My user is lavender-rainstorms
> 
> I don't really have anything on there, but maybe we can start something beautiful on that account!
> 
> You can message me and we can talk, become friends, or start a little community. If you want, you can drop in suggestions in my ask box, writing ideas or one-shot requests. We can become close.
> 
> I really look forward to it.
> 
> I hope this can work.
> 
> You've done so much for me, I just want to give back.
> 
> Thank you all so fucking much, seriously.
> 
>  
> 
> See you elsewhere, or until the next chapter, Lo.


	19. Nobody needs to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: Hypnotic Spells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient, everyone! It means a lot you guys have all been so understanding of my hiatuses between chapters. I feel way better about writing now that I know I'm not under pressure. Enjoy this garbage, it was fun to write !

Bolt awake.

It was like something out of a far too overly-dramatic indie horror movie.

One second, he was asleep; a limb occasionally flopping over in distress from beyond the dreamworld, the next, Thomas was sitting straight in bed, swimming in the sheets engulfing his clammy body.

It was a solid gasp that filled the room, a gulping breath as if life had just been restored to him in an unfamiliar body; given to him by an unforgiving god.

But then it was silent.

Thomas was encased in a dark womb of it, all noise nonexistent besides a soft clicking downstairs.

His breath still caught in his throat, Thomas released it slowly, hanging his head as he heaved away the swell in his chest. Curling his legs slowly to his body from under the cold sheets, he ran his fingers into his hair slowly.

He should have known he wouldn't have been able to sleep tonight, but the grief the sides gave him has wearing him down faster than his own exhaustion. Now here he was, four in the morning, back awake and too aware of every noise downstairs.

Brushing hair out from his face, Thomas listened closer to the noises downstairs, an eyebrow cocking a bit as he heard faint murmurs.

Shifting, the man turned his body to the edge of the bed, slipping out quietly onto the hard floorboards.

Eyes drooping, Thomas quietly shuffled to the door. Logan and Roman were probably still up talking; they were when Thomas eventually went to bed three hours earlier.

It would explain the noise, at least.

Thomas poked his head out from the doorway, blinking blearily into the darkness.

Allowing his eyes a moment to adjust, Thomas slipped out from the door frame, silently shutting it behind him. He was slow; quiet as he tried hard not to disturb the conversation whatever sides were having downstairs.

It sounded serious.

Gently making his way to the stairwell, Thomas took a seat on the utmost step, resting his head on the banister.

He didn't want the sides to know he was awake again, he didn't want to cause them that extra trouble after all they had gone through that evening.

Instead, he sat.

Instead, he listened.

Nobody had to know.

Below him, the soft murmurs had become raspier, more forced and shaky.

As if words were being pushed past clenched teeth.

The dissolved distance between Thomas and the sides allowed him to swallow up every word, irregardless of the disgruntled nature echoing off both voices.

Two seconds into the conversation, Thomas was able to conclusively say that the exchange wasn't the aforementioned nerd-prep duo.

No no.

It came from a duo he’d never anticipated seeing together. 

One figure draped in black cloth spoke in a slow, drawn out mannor; every other syllable articulated as his hushed voice floated through the room. The voice sounded disappointed, uninterested and controlling. There was no question in the statements it was making, just a one-sided icy stab of verbal ridicule.

Thomas stared down silently, watching in a tense horror as his Deception weighed down on his Anxiety, body posture imposing a clear dominance over the couch-bound Virgil. 

Deceit was larger, more physically imposing. 

It was something, Thomas observed, that Deceit used to his advantage. 

There was a hand cupped under Virgil’s chin, denying the boy the chance to turn away from the other man, who was mere inches away from his face as he spoke in a low, demanding murmur.

Thomas could see Virgil squirm painfully away from every touch of Deceit’s, the movements too frantic for his damaged body to have been able to execute without excruciating pain.

It was gut wrenching. 

And yet, he watched.

And yet, he listened.

But nobody had to know that.

Tears that threatened to streak Virgil’s face welled up, the little light of the living room reflecting the water like a spotlight hitting a mirror.

Was it from the pain?

Or mayhaps it was from the confrontation.

Either way, it was Thomas’ first time ever witnessing Virgil at a near-breaking-point.

Thomas was a consumer, mindlessly watching as if under some form of hypnosis, Thomas was completely enchanted by the scene.

Deceit was cooing to the younger man, gloved fingers stroking his cheeks in long, careful glides. Even from his compromising position on the stairs, Thomas could see the distance in Virgil’s eyes. Anxiety’s eyes were blown wide, their deep brown coloration suffocating the black pupil as it shrunk in size, focusing less and less on Deceit and his words. There was emptiness, no sign of response momentarily as he continued to disconnect from reality.

Deceit hadn't seemed to have noticed.

He was still talking in that thick, disgustingly suave croon.

Discouraging words and heartbreakingly false statements, an ill-intended concoction of lies rolling off his forked tongue easily. 

Lies and rumours, masked as a face of pure truth and good intentions. 

Thomas could feel Virgil breaking within himself.

He felt _himself_ breaking for him, too.

_“I only ever aimed to protect you, Anxiety, is that not what I’ve been telling you for years?”_

_“N-no…”_

Barely above a whisper, Virgil was struggling to respond, to justify himself.

Thomas recognized the statements; Deceit's words an exact copy to something of Virgil’s from months ago. The phrase falling so naturally off of Deceit’s lips it seemed too familiar to be a copy of someone else’s.

As if Virgil had been spoon fed the phrase, hearing it so often he eventually parroted it.

Deceit has always had power over Virgil.

Just not in any way the others could have predicted.

A phrase is such a small thing to manipulate someone into repeating, to brainwash them into becoming even _marginally_ similar to their tormentor.

And yet, the effect still lasted; it was still there.

How long had Virgil been manipulated and hurt by Deceit in order to keep him under his gloved thumb?

Was he still?

Not that it mattered.

It wasn't theirs to know.

Nobody had that right.

Thomas was swimming within his own head, ones focused on nothing in particular as they bore into the back of Deceit’s skull. Hypnotized by his own realization of the relationship between the two ‘dark' sides, the dots were slowly starting to connect.

The knife Logan had to remove.

Shadows weren't corporeal. They couldn't have picked up an object that would exist in Thomas’ realm: reality. It wasn't logical to say a real object combined with the true bodily damage Virgil had displayed had been done only by them, as Logan’s explanation would put it.

Virgil wasn't stabbed by a shadow.

The bruises, cuts and welts along Virgil’s face.

Thomas knew earlier it seemed human, it felt _wrong_ to chalk up his suspicions to anything else. Welts in the shape of an open palm across his cheeks, cuts down his torn lips ripped open not by claws, but forced open by a sharp nail; Virgil was tortured and played with by something other than a literal monster. His face didn't even _have_ burns like the rest of his body, where those welts were not present. The charred, scaled skin from burns ended around Virgil’s throat.

Maybe they contributed, yes, but Virgil didn't end up in his living room half-past dead because of any shadows.

No, no matter how he looked at it, Thomas was unable to debunk his latest revelation.

Thomas was disenchanted upon this thought, forcing himself to pay attention to the living room below him, to look down upon the deceptive side, the cruel part of him that hurt another part he never wanted to see hurt in the first place.

He blinked, staring into the darkness below, but the man was gone.

Quiet again was the downstairs living area.

There was no chatter, no humming, no sounds of rustling book pages.

The sounds Thomas always heard when the sides were in his realm with him were gone.

Instead, the atmosphere had been filled with uneasy quiet, a heavy misery brought on by Thomas’ own understanding of the situation.

All too quiet, thoughts all too loud, his four sides all too still. 

God only knows what had happened in the few minutes Thomas had stopped paying attention to Deceit and Virgil. He hadn't heard a commotion, yet Virgil was unconscious on the couch once more, Deceit nowhere in sight.

Perhaps things resolved themselves, but Thomas was too distracted to come to that conclusion on his own.

Perhaps it got worse, though. 

Who is to say?

He didn't know.

Sitting up straighter, Thomas watched over the four as they slept below him, vulnerable and precious. 

There was no way Thomas was going to sleep any more that night.

With Deceit’s voice floating around in his head, Thomas rested his chin on his palm. He’d watch over them for the night. 

Thomas may not have caught on from the start, but it all made sense now.

Virgil was a victim of something more.

He deserved to be helped.

Everyone deserves to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading my loves! If you wanna leave any messages or suggestions/ideas feel free! 
> 
> You can also hit me up on my tumblr at lavender-rainstorms ! I've loved talking to some of you on there and getting close! You can also drop in some requests for fics if you'd like!
> 
> Thanks for sticking around, my darlings  
>  -Lo


	20. Something isn't right, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, everyone!!!
> 
> You don't need to guess.
> 
> It's me, back on my bullshit again.

Morning’s rays reflected into the room from every surface. The golden glow accompanied by disembodied chirping from outside the apartment was something out of a dream; enchanting, and still.

Gentle light grew sharp as the minutes ticked by, the narrow streams of daylight creeping up the walls from the curtains that hung slightly ajar.

Thomas managed a smile as he felt the warmth reach his feet from where he sat, perched on the stairs. The smile was tired, mimicking the empty and yet swollen feel that resided within the soft bags under Thomas’ eyes.

He’d watched all night, not that that was much time in the first place, though. 

There was something about watching the four from such a vulnerable position that made Thomas’ heart swell. Something was triggered inside him that night as he lovingly watched and protected his sides as they slept, just as they had for him countless times before. 

Thomas felt like he was repaying something. 

Meaning something.

Of course, there was a certain sense of guilt that accompanied this position of night guard: the circumstance.

He shouldn't have felt pride for being able to protect and watch them that night.

The reason they were even there was because he had failed to do that in the first place.

And when one gets hit, they all take the fall.

Dawn’s embrace caught Thomas’ eye as light danced across the reflections in the glasses of Logan below. Each breath, no matter how soft, made the light flicker and prance off of the lenses in a varying amount of different directions; some light streams transferring against Patton’s glasses as to duet in the hazy ballet. 

The light kept the two connected. 

As did something else.

Thomas watched in a fond amusement as Logan shifted his face away from the light as it grew in intensity, burying himself within a fold of the blanket draped over the couch he rested against.

The blanket draped over Virgil.

Even in the sunrise’s awakening, it was difficult to see the small man; shrunken under the warm objects surrounding him.

Virgil’s unconscious body still hid among the shadows, serving as a grave reminder that not even the glorious golden light could mask.

Things weren't resolved overnight. 

Yet Thomas held his breath.

He waited for the sun to kiss his pale face, to gently hit his eyelids which hid under the berry colour of hair and cast shadows upon his cheeks.

Thomas was frozen, begging for light and dark to meet on Virgil so that he could compare.

So that he could still see colour in the young man’s cheeks.

Still see life.

Still know he was safe.

He needed that reminder.

Thomas’ gaze bore into Virgil, eyes drifting lazily as they lost focus on his image. He could feel himself beginning to cease up, mentally checking out as his worries began to hit.

Slow.

Like the first signs of November rain.

Small individual thoughts came to him occasionally, until he was completely aware of their presence.

By that time, the rain was already pouring.

“Good morning, Thomas.”

Then, he was back.

Thomas jolted slightly, eyes blinking hard to regain their focus and find the source of whoever had greeted him.

Scanning the room below, Thomas met eyes with a weary looking Logan, smiling in an exhausted form of fondness.

His face was still half hidden by the blanket, his arms folded under his resting head in a peaceful display. Tilting his head just slightly, Logan’s lenses slid down from his forehead where they were pushed away, back to the bridge of his nose. The shift allowed Thomas to witness the lines and imprints from both the cloth and the metal of his watch pressed into his cheeks.

It was the early morning, after all, so it shouldn't have meant anything.

But Logan had never looked more disheveled.

Thomas watched as Logan sat up, hearing the pop-popping of his spine as he stretched his arms behind his head, followed by Logan’s cringing of the unnatural noise.

Arms came back down, resting on the couch and at the feet of Virgil, who Logan was gazing at with an inquisitive look. Thomas could see Logan visibly hesitate as he began to move, picking up his weight and setting it instead on the couch.

As if Logan had no regard for boundaries, he hunched himself in, leaning over Virgil’s small frame with that same damned stare.

Thomas’ heart sank.

Then, it began to pound.

“Is- Logan, is everything alright?”

His breath came out short, careful as he spoke as to not jar Logan whilst he was in a state of examination.

Not that it mattered.

Logan was long gone.

Still as a pillar.

Thomas would have called out again, but the logical facet was starting to move again.

His right hand came up slowly, hovering over the link Patton and Virgil’s hands were intertwined by, before gently pressing his hand to the hold. Though he was stroking the knuckles of both the men with his thumb, Logan’s eyes were locked on Virgil alone.

His hand slid up, gently gripping Virgil’s wrist and he pressed his fingers against one of the many bandages coating Virgil’s arms.

He held.

He waited.

Silence.

Watching the strange scene unfold, Thomas hadn't realized he was holding his breath.

He let it out, and Logan’s eyes went wide.

Not breaking his line of sight from Virgil’s shadowed face, Logan felt for Patton clumsily. Patting around until his hand landed on shoulder of the sleeping man, shaking it.

It took no time at all for Patton to crack open an eye, giving his waker a concerned frown.

“Lo- is something wrong, Logan?”

Patton’s tired voice floated around the room, tumbling off his lips with exhaustion despite the clear genuine nature of the question.

Logan’s lips twitched in response, forming neither a smile nor frown; he shot Patton a look of mild bewilderment, eyes darting to and fro as he searched for an answer.

“I,”

Logan paused, lightly squeezing Virgil’s wrist.

“I don't know. Wake Roman, would you kindly?”

Patton sat up slowly, his spine pounding in protest as he rose from the hard floor. Eyes focused between Virgil, Logan, and the way Logan was squeezing and inspecting the bandages with his fingers, Patton whispered.

“Logan, please, you're starting to worry me-”

Moving gently, Patton’s hand, now free of the hold on Virgil’s, rested on Logan’s bicep. Carefully, Patton pulled, attempting to pull back Logan’s arm as it became increasingly more violent on Virgil.

Panic overtook him when Logan began to tear back on the stitching and finger open the bandage on Virgil’s forearm.

“Logan, wait no- don't hurt him! You're gonna-”

Patton reached forward suddenly, his voice high pitched as urgency came over him in the quiet atmosphere, but Logan had already done it.

The cloth wrap now unfurled hung in its thin strands over the couch, pouring onto the floor where the rough threads didn't catch to hold it in place of the seat, leaving Logan clinging on to the newly-bare arm of Virgil.

And then there was silence. 

Patton cupped his hands over his mouth in shock, eyes wide enough to fall out of their sockets.

Logan only stared, no distinct emotion displaying as he stared at the pallid limb.

Everything.

The blood flow.

The scarring

The cuts and gashes.

And most notably: the sizzling burns.

Everything _they_ had done to Virgil, was gone.

Leaving only a single ring of yellow fingertip bruises in the white skin of their previously massacred youngest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took eons to get out to you all! But!! I'm really happy with it! I feel like I finally know where this story is going and I know how to end it. This chapter really gave me certainty in that.
> 
> We're almost done, so bare with me.
> 
> Thank you everyone for sticking around!!!
> 
> Love you all, Lo.


End file.
